


Any Other Day

by peanutbutterjelly-pie (Aleakim)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Caretaker Dean Winchester, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slight Canon Divergence, Victor being alive and friends with the Winchesters, Whump, Worried Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2019-10-25 21:00:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 45,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17732576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aleakim/pseuds/peanutbutterjelly-pie
Summary: -Victor just wants to finally enjoy his weekend.But when weird reports of a man in a trench coat having been arrested for murder in some small town in Colorado are coming in and the names of the Winchester brothers are all of a sudden mentioned for the very first time in almost a decade inside the FBI building, Victor needs to kiss his free time goodbye.So instead of spending his days on the couch, eating all the takeout he can find and watching crappy movies, he all at once sees himself confronted with an unstable angel, incapable of controlling his powers, a hunter missing from the scene, nowhere to be found, and the other one worried out of his mind about his family.Yeah, that's not the quiet weekend Victor had been hoping for.At all.*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *(A story about love and sacrifice, blood and loss, about an FBI Agent way over his head, and about a hunter and an angel maybe finally coming to terms with their feelings for each other.Even if it might be too late.)-





	1. Paperwork

**Author's Note:**

> -
> 
> Hey, folks!! Welcome to my new story :D
> 
> This fic is a combination of some old and newer story ideas and scratches a few of my very personal itches:
> 
> 1) It's canon!verse :)) For a while now I seriously wanted to write something longer than an one-shot based on canon. Granted, the whole thing is slightly divergent – with a few minor incidents changed and some people alive who are no more in canon (*points at #2*) –, but the overall setting and past events follow the canon story line.
> 
> 2) One of the divergent elements: Victor Henriksen is very much alive and working with the Winchesters :D I was always fascinated by his character and seriously mourned his very early demise. In my opinion there was a lot of potential missed, that's why I wanted to explore the question, “What if Victor would've stayed alive?” ^^
> 
> 3) This story takes place in season 12, just a few weeks after 12x12 “Stuck in the Middle (With You)”. I just recently had some gifsets of that episode on my dashboard and suddenly was struck with an idea out of the blue, so I just had to write it down ;D There will be references to the episode, but overall you don't have to re-watch it (or watch it for the very first time) to understand what's going on ;) 
> 
> 4) I just needed to write some good old-fashioned Destiel hurt/comfort. Prepare for angst and whump, but also fluff and sweetness ;) I hope I'm gonna keep you on your toes with this story!
> 
> 5) Sam x Eileen – I think I don't need an explanation for this, right? ;) They're cute and perfect and I just had to include them!
> 
>  
> 
> So yeah, that's it for the time being :D
> 
> I will try to keep a steady schedule (the next few chapters are already far along), but of course I can't make any promises – life and stuff ;p But I'm trying my very best!!
> 
> -

“Agent Henriksen?”

Victor hears the voice of his colleague floating through the hallway into his office and he automatically finds himself heaving a very deep sigh while glancing at his computer's clock. It's way too late and he actually wanted to call it a day and go home like two hours ago.

But paperwork always has been a bitch since the dawn of time and now it seems as though the universe is trying to top her efforts to never let him see the inside of his apartment ever again.

“Agent?” Tanner's tone is urgent, tense.

He's obviously not just looking for Victor to share a donut with him or bitch about their new supervisor.

Victor seriously considers turning off the lights in his office as fast as possible and hiding underneath his desk, pretending that he isn't still around to work even later than he's already doing and putting more overtime on top of his overtime. For a few seconds it sounds like a solid plan in his mind and not like the idea of a child trying to evade their chores.

But eventually – unfortunately – he recalls that he's a fucking Federal Agent and he can't just crawl under tables and avoid the world.

No, he has to do this the grown-up way.

And that's why, when Tanner strides into his office a couple of seconds later, Victor greets him with the stoniest expression imaginable and simply states, in a deep tone that bares no objection, “ _No_!”

Tanner immediately pauses and blinks confusedly at the man in front of him. “What?”

“No!” Victor repeats, his tone unwavering. “Whatever you're here for – just _NO_!”

“But –”

“I don't wanna hear it!” Victor cuts in straightaway as he raises his hand in warning at the younger agent. “You've got your _something-important-came-up_ face on and I don't appreciate that. On the contrary, I'm feeling quite inclined to kick your ass. And do you really want that, Tanner, hm? Me kicking your skinny ass?”

Tanner looks conflicted now, studying Victor tentatively as though he seriously expects the threat turning into reality the very next moment if he'd dare to even speak.

He's so young and naive, it's almost cute.

“I've actually went home over two hours ago,” Victor clarifies. “The person sitting on this chair right now,” he gestures at himself, “is paperwork!Henriksen and paperwork!Henriksen is constantly grumpy and on edge 'coz he's forced to do all this crap he hates, but he does it anyway since it's part of the job. So he focuses on his paperwork _and nothing else_ and eventually he goes home, too.”

Tanner merely stares at him, obviously losing vital brain functions right now.

“And if _anyone_ would dare to interrupt paperwork!Henriksen during his oh-so-important work and would even have the audacity to ruin his weekend, heads would roll.” Victor stretches his mouth into the most evil smile. “So NO! Whatever you have to say, whatever huge-ass case landed on your lap, find some other agent to help you out with.”

Tanner starts to squirm, smelling so much like energy and zest for action it actually hurts to even be in the same room as him. Victor can't help but intensify his glare, hoping it would scare the guy out of his office and – most importantly – out of his life.

Sadly enough, though, Tanner's survival instinct is obviously nonexistent.

Instead of fleeing the scene to never return, he even takes a step forward while gripping the folder in his hand like a lifeline.

“It's really important, sir,” he urges.

Victor rolls his eyes. “It's _always_ important. It's important when the national security is at stake and it's also important when the toilet paper in the bathroom at the end of the hallway runs low. So just let me be, kid.”

Tanner's eyebrow starts to twitch – a nervous tick Victor noticed a couple of times before –, however, he still doesn't budge.

So either the poor son of a bitch has a death wish or somehow fleeing the scene would get him into trouble with someone even scarier than Victor.

And Victor can't really have that, can he? Because _he_ is the scariest motherfucker in this whole frigging building, dammit!

“Why are you still here, kiddo?” he growls. “Just run for the hills and cry on your mommy's shoulder. Because if there isn't someone at least _dying_ _–”_

“There is!” Tanner interrupts, puffing up his chest while simultaneously widening his eyes like he can't believe he just cut Victor off like that. “Uh, dying, I mean. There might be someone dying.”

Victor scoffs. “There _might_ be?”

Tanner shifts his weight from one leg to the other. “Well, we have no real body. Or, um, any body at all, alive or dead.”

Victor arches his brows, wondering why the hell this little child would even dare coming to him at this hour of day (or, more precisely, night) and annoying him with such vague statements. He actually thought Tanner would've at least learned by now that you don't bother Victor unless you have a solid case.

He obviously doesn't value his own life that much. Victor would even be a little concerned by that if it weren't close to midnight on a Friday night.

“Listen, Tanner, I admire your work ethics,” – despite his disgruntlement Victor is still a senior agent who should spread a few compliments here and there – “but I'm _really_ tired and if you don't have anything concrete for me, just go and harass someone else, do you hear me? I don't wanna accidentally kill you 'coz, frankly, I kinda like you, and, more importantly, it would create a fuckload of paperwork I don't have the strength to deal with right now, but please don't doubt for even a second I wouldn't do it in a heartbeat just to be home earlier today.”

Tanner swallows audibly, however, he still doesn't move toward the exit. On the contrary, he even steps a bit closer. Very cautiously, but still with a certain determination gleaming in his eyes.

“I seriously don't doubt that, Agent,” Tanner assures. “But I'm even more sure that you'd rip me a new one if I'd just go without telling you what I know.”

Okay, Victor has to confess his interest is piqued, nonetheless he schools his features into an unimpressed expression, not giving Tanner the satisfaction.

“Fine, this is how we do this,” Victor states, leaning back in his chair. “You'll get sixty seconds to tell me your super important thing and after that I'll decide whether I'm gonna kill you or not. Deal?”

Tanner grimaces. “Well, I'm not really –”

_“_ _Deal_?”

Tanner bites his bottom lip and for a moment it seems like he'd bail after all, just turn on his heels and run for his life, but then he takes a deep breath as though he's bracing himself.

“Two days ago the Police Department of Lafayette, Colorado, booked a murder suspect,” he starts to explain. “Well, _suspect_ is actually too much considering that guy stabbed another man into the chest right next to some police officers. Killed him right there, on the spot. There's not much suspecting going on here.”

Victor can't really argue with that, so he inclines his head and urges him to continue.

“That guy - well, the authorities described him as frantic and psychotic. He went all crazy Constantine, dressed in a suit and trench coat and killing the victim with some sort of blade made out of a material no one has so far been able to identify. The officers had quite a hard time containing him.”

Victor can't help listening up a little bit more. A blade with unknown origin?

Sure, there might be a totally reasonable explanation. After all, the tech labs in bombfuck nowhere aren't the most equipped, at least nothing compared to the big precincts in the major cities or even to FBI resources themselves, so it's clearly more than possible that some small town in Colorado just doesn't have the right technology to identify that weapon.

It sounds logical enough.

But still …

Since that night which changed his life completely all these years ago he always feels some itch underneath his skin.

“The guy, he put up one hell of a fight,” Tanner continues. “According to the records they needed six men to take him down. And at some point the guy even managed to break some freaking handcuffs in half, just like that. I mean, it's probably been a manufacturing error or something, of course …”

Victor merely blinks. Granted, he's never heard of handcuffs breaking due to faulty material before, but hell, it might happen, right?

However, he finds himself leaning a bit closer, his curiosity growing.

A blade no one has so far been able to relate? A man so strong that he could only been taken down by a small army? Right before destroying official detaining equipment?

Yeah, Victor has to admit that sounds fishy.

And maybe even supernatural?

Victor glances at his phone, already thinking about calling Dean and giving him the details. The hunter would know better whether this is something worth checking out or not.

“Any information about the guy?” Victor asks.

“After a lot of struggle the police got the guy's finger prints,” Tanner says, apparently encouraged by the fact that Victor is beginning to take an interest instead of dismissing him altogether. “His name is James Novak. He went missing in 2008.”

A man who disappeared almost ten years ago just shows up on the face of the earth to kill another guy?

Yeah, definitely fishy.

Sure, there might be a marginally normal explanation for the whole thing – gruesome and horrifying, yet _human_ –, but since that life-changing night in the station of the Monument Police Department (and Victor can't really ignore the fact that Lafayette is practically in that neighborhood, coincidence or not) he just knows that sometimes there is more at play than meets the eye.

So yes, this just could be a guy who either got kidnapped or maybe just ran away from his life about a decade ago and now found himself on the radar again after murdering someone in cold blood. People went crazy like that all the time without anything supernatural being the cause of it.

But there could be other explanations. Possession. Witchcraft. Hell, even fucking time travel (he still hasn't fully recovered after Dean told him about _that one_ ).

There are no limits anymore.

And sometimes it still scares Victor to death.

“The forensic team examined Novak's clothes,” Tanner adds, now bouncing a little on his heels like an overeager puppy. “He was covered in blood, naturally. So no surprise there. However, two sets of DNA were found on his coat. The first one was obviously the victim, as you can imagine. The second one though …” He tilts his head, inhaling deeply. “Do you remember the Winchester case?”

Victor flinches and for a moment he can't help panicking a little that Tanner either read his mind just a second ago or that he accidentally said Dean's name out loud without meaning to.

What the fuck?

“The Winchesters?” Victor blinks a few times, trying desperately to collect his thoughts and not look like a startled kid after being caught with their hand in the cookie jar. “What about them? They're dead.”

Victor made damn sure it would stay that way. Even as those Leviathan doppelgänger bastards tried to undermine his work a few years back, bringing the Winchesters on the freaking news of all things, Victor managed to convince the world (or, well, anybody who was supposed to listen) that they had been dealing with talented, yet absolutely fake con artists. It took a lot of effort, but hell, everyone still thinks the Winchester died in that exploding helicopter in Monument and Victor is more than determined that it shall stay that way until the end of time itself.

However, when Tanner says, “Are you really sure they're dead?” Victor feels a heavy weight pressing on his chest.

“Why do you ask?” Victor urges as his pulse is starting to race.

Whatever is happening right now – he seriously doesn't like it.

“James Novak,” Tanner explains, “he was covered from head to toe in Sam Winchester's blood.”

Fuck.

FUCK.

And there goes Victor's quiet evening.

 

 


	2. Please Leave a Message

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, folks!!
> 
> Again, thank you so much for all your positive response on the last chapter and I hope you're gonna enjoy this one as well ;)
> 
> Have fun ... kinda ;D
> 
> -

“ _This is Dean. Please leave a message …”_

Victor grumbles as he listens to the now annoyingly familiar voicemail for the twentieth time in the last hour alone. He's been calling both Dean and Sam basically nonstop since he left his office last night in a hurry and booked the next flight to Colorado before even putting his coat on, but so far he got no answer from either of them.

It's so no not like them and Victor grows increasingly worried.

Granted, considering their very dangerous lifestyle he half expected to eventually encounter such a situation – not being able to reach the brothers and learning days, months or even years later what evidently happened to them –, however, it feels all kinds of horrible that the possibility might become reality sometime very soon.

Shit.

He basically throws himself into the first cab right in front of the airport as soon as he landed and urges the driver to bring him to the police station as fast as possible. He even flashes his badge and tells him to ignore the speed limit, not giving a damn that he's abusing his authority to break the law.

Hell, since that unforgettable night in Monument Victor has been bending the rules for Dean and Sam more times than he can count. Some traffic violation won't make matters worse now anyway.

It feels like forever and no time at all until the Police Department appears in Victor's field of vision. It's a fairly modern building with some interesting architectural twists which normally would've made him pause and appreciate them for at least a second or two, but now Victor only presses some cash into the driver's hand, not even really checking the amount, and rushes off without even a goodbye.

The woman at the reception smiles politely at him, but it instantly vanishes as Victor shoves his badge right into her face and demands to speak to her superior. He feels a bit bad for coming on so rude, but hell, his stoic FBI face and patented glare always gets him quicker results, so he refrains from wasting his time with stupid manners and all that bullshit.

Even as the receptionist quickly leads him to the chief's office, babbling about her boss, looking all kinds of nervous as though she expects Victor to eat her alive in the next second, he doesn't even bother with a thank you or even a brief glance in her direction while striding into the room.

There's seriously no time to speak with someone unrelated to this case longer than necessary.

However, Victor reminds himself to send her a huge fruit basket as soon as this shit show is over.

“Agent,” the chief – a slender man with the curliest hair Victor has ever seen – greets him, shaking his hand like they're old buddies.

His name is Simpson, as Victor has read in the file before, and he's been in charge for less than a year now. He's young for a guy in his position, but he appears confident enough while pointing at a chair for Victor to sit on. At least he doesn't seem intimidated having to deal with the FBI and Victor can't really tell right now whether that might turn out to become a good or a bad thing.

Time will tell.

Simpson already walks back to his desk, obviously fully prepared to have a talk with Victor first, while the agent hesitates. Everything inside himself _burns_ with the need to go to Novak and squeeze every tiny bit of information about Sam and Dean out of his body until there's nothing left. His emotions are flaring up like crazy, making it hard to think straight for a minute there.

_God_ , he's desperate to do something beside sitting around.

But at the same time Victor knows that he's not allowed to lose his mind over this. He needs control, he needs the upper hand, and he can't achieve any of that if he'd go insane right here and now. He can't risk his supervisors having any doubts about him being able to handle this whole thing.

So yeah, it's usual procedure to get up to speed with the local precinct about the details of the current case before grilling prisoners and going all Hulk on them.

And since some of the events described in the Lafayette report seemed a bit wobbly anyway and his trainers in Quantico as well as Dean later on urged him to get to know everything you're capable of about your enemy before facing them, Victor admits that a few minutes of his time won't be wasted. It might decide about life and death, after all.

“Well, you certainly don't wait around,” Chief Simpson says as he drops onto his comfortable looking leather seat. “I didn't expect you guys to be here so quickly. We just informed you about the case last night.”

He glances at a mug on his desk, most likely his morning coffee that he poured himself after arriving at work not long ago. He didn't even have time to finish it yet.

“It is an urgent case,” Victor says while trying to keep too many emotions out of his voice. For everyone else he's just a dedicated FBI Agent doing his job and not a guy personally and emotionally involved in this mess and _dammit all to hell_ , over the years he became a fairly good actor. Lying, pretending like he's got no clue what's really out there – it's like a second skin now.

“Well, we're happy for any assistance,” the chief says with a slight smile. “I've gotta be honest, we're a small community and we don't have that much homicides going around here. Especially the nutjob kind, y'know?”

“Tell me what happened,” Victor urges. He needs all the details, especially the little things not mentioned in the file because the person responsible deemed them not important enough or maybe too strange to even consider writing them down. It's mostly those small tidbits that make all the difference.

“Well, it's all really weird,” Simpson admits. “That guy just stabs his victim into the chest with his fucking blade like he's in some dystopia movie or whatever. Right there, on a bright day, in the town's center, with dozen of witnesses, two of my officers included.”

He shakes his head as though he can't believe this really happened.

“My men arrested Novak straightaway and tried to help the victim, but it was ultimately too late for that. The poor bastard was probably already dead before hitting the ground.” Simpson leans back in his chair. “We identified the victim as Roger Dylan, a salesman from Arkansas, who went missing a few weeks ago.”

“He went missing?” Victor asks. “Just like Novak went missing ten years before?”

Simpson sighs. “Like I said, it's really fucking weird. Why do two missing people from different parts of the country suddenly find themselves in some small town in Colorado with one of them ending up dead? It doesn't make a lot of sense. There's no connection between Novak and Dylan, never has been even the slightest hint. Usually the chance of them meeting would've been slim to nonexistent.”

Normally Victor would agree. But in the last few years he learned a lot about things he never thought possible before.

“No one can tell where they came from,” Simpson continues, sounding very tired now. “I mean, fuck, nobody even remembers seeing them on the town's square until seconds before the actual murder. It's like they popped out of thin air all of sudden.”

Victor's inner alarm bells ring louder than ever before.

Yep, there's definitely something supernatural going on here.

And obviously the Winchesters have been involved somehow and now neither of them is answering their phones.

That doesn't bode well.

“We were thinking about calling you in earlier,” the chief confesses, apparently unaware of Victor's inner turmoil. “Like I said, missing people from different states and all that. It's clearly something beyond our borders and whatnot. But it took some time to identify both Dylan and Novak and the forensic team was already working, and well, then the report about the blood came in …” He rubs his temple, most likely fighting back a headache. “I mean, there was _so much blood_. We just knew it couldn't have been all Dylan considering my men pulled Novak off his victim basically immediately and there hadn't been that much time to be practically drenched in the stuff, y'know, …”

Victor can't help a flinch as he thinks about this being _Sam's_ blood.

Fuck.

It's been a few months back since Victor saw him last. He met with Dean and Sam for a case he had previously found deep in the FBI database and figured worth investigating. Victor usually barely participates in actual hunts, he mostly uses his position to help cover tracks or find cases the hunters wouldn't even have heard of under normal circumstances, but in that special situation he felt some itch underneath his skin – probably due to a long row of very frustrating work days and some bad mushrooms in his risotto which clouded his judgment – and before he even knew what happened he found himself two states over to assist the Winchesters in killing some rogue werewolves.

Sam had been open to Victor's suggestions, constantly eager to learn from the older man's expertise, and tried to involve him in return as much as possible. Victor felt both like a teacher and a student in those few days while Dean mostly stayed in the background and smiled at them with scarcely concealed affection.

Yeah, Sam is a good guy.

He doesn't deserve to lie somewhere in a ditch, hurt or even dead.

“When we identified the second blood sample on Novak's clothes your cute little FBI icon instantly popped up,” Simpson explains. “That's when I realized this is even bigger than anticipated.”

He takes a gulp of his coffee, apparently fairly calm despite the circumstances, and Victor suppresses the urge to berate him with the most colorful words imaginable and maybe strangle him a bit.

After all, the man is only doing his job and believes Victor to be the same.

“I presume you're trying everything there is possible to find the original source of the second blood sample?” Victor asks, attempting to not sound too desperate. “The alleged Sam Winchester?”

“Of course,” Simpson assures right away, obviously still picking up on some of Victor's tension as he straightens up in his chair. “Hospital, morgues, etc. We printed the FBI mugshot and showed it around near the crime scene and beyond, hoping that anyone had seen him. We searched the whole area. Nothing so far, not even a drop of blood.”

Victor bites his bottom lip. There are a million questions resting on his tongue, next to another million orders he wants to bark into this man's face, but he refrains from making a scene. He knows from experience it'll sometimes get you the opposite result of what you've been hoping for.

Instead he just says, “I wanna see Novak” in his most authoritative voice that gives no room for objection.

Thankfully Simpson doesn't make a fuss or insists on strict protocol as he simply nods and gestures the agent to follow him. Soon enough Victor finds himself walking through a wide hallway, glancing at a few officers obviously just starting their shift who're immediately eyeing him curiously in return, and eventually ends up in a spacious room with two holding cells at the West front.

The right one is empty, the cell next to it however is occupied by a dark figure. Victor doesn't wait around as he steps closer and inspects the resident.

Novak sits in the far corner on his makeshift bed, his gaze apparently going to nowhere. He doesn't acknowledge the men entering his field of vision in any way for even a millisecond as he keeps staring into nothingness, lost in reverie.

Victor studies him for a moment intently. On first glance there's nothing special about the man – just a regular guy with wild hair and blue eyes, wrapped in some sweatpants and a hoodie seemingly one size too big. He appears harmless enough, even a bit lost, especially in those clothes which are obviously not his (considering his actual, quite blood-soaked stuff is part of the evidence chain now and he won't get them back anytime soon), however, Victor learned very early in his training (and particularly later when he discovered the truth about the supernatural world) that you shouldn't judge a book by its cover.

After all, Novak apparently killed a guy in cold blood and gave a whole army of police officers a fairly hard time containing him.

Yeah, he shouldn't be underestimated.

As Victor inspects him more closely he even feels something prickling underneath his skin. Perhaps it's just his freaking imagination, fed by the fact that he's most likely dealing with something not entirely human, or maybe there's indeed something present, sizzling in the air around them. At least he notices Simpson shuffling uncomfortably next to him, like he's feeling it as well and has no idea what to make of it, and decides not to take this lightly.

“Good morning, Mr. Novak.” Victor flashes the man the most fake smile as he approaches the cell. “How are you on this beautiful day?”

Novak still doesn't react, doesn't even twitch a muscle, and Victor feels his chest constricting at the sight.

“I'm Special Agent Victor Henriksen,” he introduces himself. “And as you can imagine I'm here because of your little stunt on the town's square. We're gonna have a long, nice talk –”

“Henriksen?”

Novak's voice is deep – way deeper than Victor would've thought – and his blue eyes bore right into Victor's soul as the agent all of sudden sees himself confronted with it.

_Damn_.

There is _definitely_ something supernatural going on with this fella.

Novak scrambles onto his feet, kinda looking like a newborn baby deer and a graceful dancer at the same time, and steps at the bars separating him from the other two men in the room. “You're Henriksen?”

There's actual _hope_ in his freaking voice and Victor feels highly bewildered by that. That's not the reaction he had been expecting, not by a long shot.

He's got no real idea what's happening.

He only knows that they shouldn't have any witnesses.

So he turns toward Simpson straightaway and gives him the well-known _leave-me-alone-with-the-suspect-for-a-few-minutes_ look. Everyone long enough in law enforcement encountered it at some point in their career and the Police Chief is obviously no exception. He doesn't make a big deal out of it or drop some bullshit about protocol or whatnot as he simply nods and walks out of the room.

Good man.

Victor reminds himself to give him a buddy-shoulder-slap on his way out later.

“Okay, pal,” he says, fixing his attention back on Novak who started to assess him so intensely it's getting very close to awkward. “I've got no clue who you are, but you obviously heard my name before, so why don't you just tell me the whole story instead of wasting my time?”

Novak blinks, but he keeps silent. It seems like he's on the verge of his mind drifting into space once more.

Victor grinds his teeth.

“I don't have all day, amigo!” he urges. “One man is dead and another … well, his blood was all over you, so I guess you attacked him too at some point before …”

Maybe even with the same mysterious blade he killed that Dylan guy with.

A shiver runs through Victor's whole body as he involuntarily pictures in very gruesome detail what might've happened to Sam. It's just been about a week since he last saw him walking in the background while Victor was skyping with Dean, the young man so engrossed in his book shelves that he didn't even notice his surroundings, and now it feels like a lifetime ago and he might be dead somewhere.

And Dean … who knows what happened to him?

God, this is a fucking nightmare.

“Listen up, Novak!” Victor grumbles, his emotions desperate to take full control over his actions. “I don't know where you came from or why you saw it necessary to kill a man that publicly and I honestly don't give a shit. I just wanna know where Sam Winchester is.”

The name seems to jerk Novak out of his reverie.

His eyes widen, like he just remembered Sam's existence, and he grabs the bars of his cell so tightly his knuckles turn white. “Sam,” he whispers, so many emotions swinging in his voice. “Sam …”

Victor raises a brow. There's clearly something wrong with the guy, the haunted look in his eyes probably not considered normal. Unease is creeping up on Victor and he involuntarily straightens up his body, his muscles apparently ready for a fight that hasn't even happened yet.

“I didn't mean to …” Novak breathes, his gaze unfocused. “I didn't mean to hurt him …”

Victor tenses. “Sam? You're talking about Sam?”

Novak doesn't even acknowledge his existence. “I didn't mean to hurt him …” he repeats, his voice barely audible now. “Sam is my friend, I didn't mean to ... I'm sorry, I'm sorry …”

Suddenly the air around them feels charged, as though Novak's emotions are bleeding into the atmosphere. Every single hair on Victor's body, even the most delicate ones, stands on end all at once and the agent finds himself grabbing the chain with talismans wrapped around his neck. Dean gave it to him a long time ago, protecting Victor from all kinds of inhuman stuff the agent doesn't even want to think about too closely (like mind-reading, possession, and so – stuff of nightmares, that's for sure), and so far the collection of small amulets did their job just fine.

But he can't shake the feeling that this time the circumstances might be different.

Dammit all to hell.

“ _Hey, hey, hey_!” Victor urges, clapping his hands loudly to get the guy's attention. “I don't know what you're doing right now, buddy, but I really don't like it. Don't make me shoot you or something.”

Novak blinks again, looking at him as though he's just seeing him for the very first time.

“I …”

He trails off once more, apparently forgotten how words work.

Shit, the guy is a mess.

Great. This doesn't bode well for getting some desperately needed answers about the Winchesters.

But at the same time his strong reaction to hearing Sam's name seems to paint a certain picture. His claim that he's got friendly feeling for the Winchester doesn't look totally fake, at least.

Good. Victor can work with that.

“Okay, Novak, I suggest you take a very deep breath,” Victor proposes, trying to make his tone as soothing as possible. Novak stares at him for a moment, his eyes squinted like he can't believe he should waste his time with fucking _breathing_ of all things, but in the end he concedes, inhaling once or twice in an exaggerated manner.

Well, he's open to suggestions. Yeah, Victor can definitely work with that.

“Very good,” the agents says. “Feeling better?”

Novak grimaces and shakes his head.

“Okay, fine,” Victor waves him off. “We can deal with that later, alright? For now only Sam is important, agreed?”

Novak suddenly looks like on the verge of tears at the reminder.

_Damn_ , this one will be one hell of a ride. And not the fun kind.

“I can see that you're obviously emotional about Sam, so I'll give you the benefit of the doubt for now and assume that you didn't intend to spill his blood all over you.” Victor can be gracious if he wants to and Novak seriously looks like one step away from collapsing from the sheer weight of his guilt. “So why don't you tell me where he is –?”

“I don't know,” Novak cuts in, his face pure anguish. “I don't ... I don't know …”

Victor takes a deep breath. This won't be easy. “Then tell me what you remember. Anything might help. _Anything_.”

But Novak simply shakes his head, as though he's already given up, and drifts off into outer space again. For a moment it appears like his eyes are glowing up before he whispers, “There's so much chatter. People, all over the world. And the angels. It  _ so much _ _ …” _ He pulls a face, as though he's in serious pain. “Why is it  _so much_ all of a sudden, I don't understand –”

He groans, rubbing his temple, while the light bulb right above Victor starts to flicker.

Damn.

Whatever this guy is going through, it doesn't seem like it's gonna be pretty.

“Okay, Novak, you need to focus –”

“Castiel.”

Victor halts. “What?”

“My name is Castiel.”

Victor freezes right there on the spot and meets the guy's intense gaze with his eyes as big as saucers.

_What?_

_WHAT?_

“You're … you're …?”

Victor doesn't know what to say. He even forgets for a brief moment how to freaking human.

There's only silence filling the room, so powerful and deafening it seems to squash Victor's body like he's just a paper thin doll, too vulnerable and delicate to survive for very long. 

Is this really happening?

_FUCKING HELL_!

“I assume Dean might have mentioned me before?” the man claiming to be Castiel asks, his voice shaky. “At least he told me a lot about you.”

Victor blinks.

And blinks some more.

While still having no recollection how to be a proper human being.

The man in front of him, however – _the ANGEL, dammit_ – doesn't acknowledge Victor's inner turmoil in the slightest, doesn't even seem to notice it in the first place. His eyes only digs themselves right into Victor's soul, his expression so grave the agent is sure even his grandchildren are gonna feel the effect of it in the very far future.

“Sam …” Castiel breathes, this one word obviously so heavy on his heart it's nearly crushing him.

And Victor simply continues gaping because he's got no idea what else to do.

Neither his mom nor her church ever taught him how to deal with a situation like this.

“I don't know what's happening with me … and where Sam is …” Castiel whispers, appearing so lost that it almost breaks Victor's heart. “I need your help, Agent Henriksen.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, sorry ... 
> 
> Or maybe not ;)
> 
> So many questions, right?? >.<  
> What's going on with Cas?  
> Where's Sam?  
> What about Dean??
> 
> You might get some of these questions answered in the next chapter (which is almost finished, so it won't take very long) :D
> 
> Until next time!!


	3. Earthquake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YAY, quick update :D
> 
> Well, to be fair, this is the second part of the last chapter and about 80% of it had been already finished anyway. And since I don't really have time to post and edit anything in the next few days (and additionally I feel a cold or maybe the plague coming up >.<), I figured I give you the chapter now :)
> 
> Have fun ^^
> 
> -

Victor's jaw slackens as he stares at the man in front of him incredulously.

“You're ... you're …?” Victor makes some vague hand gestures, unable to pinpoint what he's even about to say or do. He only knows that his brain short-circuited for a moment there and he needs a minute to get it back online again.

Because  _ this _ _ … _ ?

This is fucking mind-blowing!

“You're … _Castiel_?” Victor squeaks. (Yeah, he honest to God _squeaks_ and he's not ashamed of it.). “A _motherfucking_ angel?”

Castiel wrinkles his forehead. “Well, I didn't fuck any mothers … but yes, I guess?”

“Shit!”

Victor actually never thought this day would ever come.

Of course he knows about Castiel. Probably even way more than he ever wanted to know. But Dean never shuts up about the guy, telling Victor tales about badassery and kindness, sometimes rambling for so long that Victor more than once found himself putting his phone to the side and doing some other stuff, like paperwork or his freaking taxes, while Dean got lost in his stories over and over.

Victor always considered it kinda cute, the way Dean didn't even seem to realize how much he was gushing over his best friend.

Well, as cute as one of the most dangerous hunters on the planet can be, naturally.

So yeah, Victor heard a lot about Castiel, but so far he never had the chance to meet him in person. One or two times he was rather close – him arriving at the Winchesters' with Dean greeting him with the words, “Cas left only a few hours ago, you just missed him” –, but somehow their schedules never collided.

Though, to be fair, it's not like Victor is hanging out with the brothers all the time. He's only been to the bunker like twice so far and all the other times he met up with them during hunts or trips. It's not like they ever spent Christmas together or planned happy family barbecues.

At some point he lost faith that he'd ever meet this ominous Castiel.

The – to quote Dean – “dorky weird little guy who could smash entire cities into pieces just with a flip of his hand”.

To some extent Victor always had been kinda relieved to have never met Castiel before. He's not a religious man per se, but being face to face with a real live angel seemed so fucking surreal and a little bit terrifying to him.

And, as it turns out right this instant, he was right the whole time.

Sure, the circumstances are far from ideal – any other day meeting Castiel would've probably been a fairly harmless experience, with Dean excitedly introducing them to each other –, but he still feels shivers running down his spine, almost paralyzing him.

“Dean talked about you a great deal, Victor Henriksen,” Castiel picks up his voice again after Victor had been silently staring at him in shock for too long. “You are a good man.”

Victor merely keeps gaping. “Um …”

Castiel lowers his head as his body starts to tremble once more. For a moment it looks like his knees would give up right beneath him, sending him to the ground.

It feels wrong, seeing an angel of the Lord like that.

“I don't know …” Castiel whispers again, “I don't know …”

Victor takes a deep breath and forces himself to get his shit together. This might be a life-changing moment, but he has plenty of time to freak out over it sometime later. Right now there are more important things at stake.

“Okay, okay, let's go over this one step at a time.” Victor throws a brief glance at the hallway, checking whether there are any officers close by, before stepping closer to the cell. “You don't know where Sam is?”

Castiel looks like his inside are being shredded right this second. “No,” he confesses, his voice so low it's barely coherent.

“But … you hurt him?” he repeats the statement the angel has muttered just before.

Castiel appears like he's on the verge of crying. “I didn't mean to, I didn't mean to …”

Victor raises his hand immediately. “I know, I know. Whatever happened, it isn't your fault.”

Well, of course he doesn't have any evidence or even the slightest clue what occurred before the police arrested Castiel two days ago, but he can't help hearing Dean's voice in his head. Castiel is family to both of the brothers and that title isn't easy to earn. The angel has their complete trust and Victor can't imagine that he would betray this in any kind. Not to mention that Castiel looks like the epitome of guilt and despair.

“Sam … is he alive?” Victor has to ask nonetheless.

Castiel makes a sort of whimpering noise as he ducks his head once again and tightens his grip around the bars. “I don't … I don't know …”

Victor's stomach twists around as he listens to the sheer pain in the angel's voice. For one irrational moment he considers opening this freaking cell and pulling him into a hug to comfort him to the best of his abilities.

But of course he can't risk for Simpson losing his shit and getting back to Victor's superiors. He won't lose this case to some other agents only because he's unable to control his emotions.

So instead of doing anything stupid and unprofessional he leans in and asks, “Where is Dean? Do you at least remember that?”

Castiel's head snaps up, his eyes big. “Dean?”

“Yeah,” Victor says, nodding. “Is he hurt, too?”

Castiel's gaze flickers back and forth, like he's busy rummaging in his brain to find the answer to Victor's question.

“You didn't have his blood on you,” Victor continues. “But I can't reach him on his phone.”

Has the angel been anxious and desperate before, he now looks like he's on the brink of a serious panic attack. His breathing speeds up – do angels even need to breathe in the first place? – and suddenly Victor feels himself getting dizzy, too.

At first he thinks it's just him becoming emotionally invested in the whole thing, his entire being relating to the angel and his misery, but when he notices the window on the far right corner cracking on the corners he realizes it's much more than that.

Castiel is resonating his feelings once again all over the place and Victor's sure it might end very ugly very soon.

 _Damn_.

He wants to yell, wants to bring Castiel back to the here and now and set his fucking head straight, however, as soon as he opens his mouth it feels like the air has been sucked out of his lungs. He gasps for oxygen, his heartbeat picking up in record time, as he helplessly watches all the light bulbs in the room exploding into thousand shards of spark raining onto the ground. The bars start to rattle, the floor seems to tilt to the side, and Victor gets a first impression of what the true fear of God might look like.

From somewhere nearby he hears some shouting, the men and women in this building obviously experiencing the change as well. They probably might think of this as the beginning of an earthquake or whatever and Victor really hopes it will stay that way because there would be no way in hell he'd be able to explain the situation right now.

Fuck, he doesn't even know what's happening.

Castiel, meanwhile, doesn't seem to realize that something is amiss. His eyes glow in a faint blue as he clasps the bars and mumbles Dean's name on repeat, like a mantra. Like he's trying absolutely desperately to find the answer to his whereabouts in his brain and tunes out everything else in the process. Even the sparks of the light bulb right above him hitting him don't jerk him out of his hyperfixation.

He's totally lost in his mind.

For a moment Victor doesn't know what to do. He can't breathe, he can't think and the talismans on his neck are burning his skin, like they're reacting in a very painful way to whatever Castiel is doing. Suddenly it doesn't appear hard to imagine being squashed like a bug by an angel's hand.

Yeah, Dean seriously didn't joke around when he claimed Castiel could kill someone just with the raise of his eyebrow.

It's both impressive and horrifying.

Victor hears a loud crash from the room next door and people yelling, apparently scared out of their minds, and before he even knows what he's doing, he suddenly reaches out and grabs Castiel's wrist, squeezing it tightly.

He's quite convinced he'd burn on the spot right away, extinguished by Heaven's almighty power, and he just hopes for a quick death.

But instead of perishing here and now, the touch seems to jolt Castiel out of his messy mind place.

He blinks, staring baffled at Victor's hand clasping him in desperation, before he eventually sends his gaze around the room.

And his eyes widen as he takes in the chaos unfolding around him.

Victor is pretty sure he hears Castiel hiss a quiet, “ _Fuck_!” (probably compliments to Dean for corrupting an angel of the Lord with foul language) and all of a sudden the atmosphere changes again. The shaking of the ground stops, the oxygen returns back to the room and Victor takes the deepest breath ever in his life as he sinks onto the floor, his knees unable to keep him up any longer.

Damn.

Victor's sight get a bit blurry as air is filling his lungs again and the voices of the other people in the building appear faint, almost like a dream. For a moment he's quite convinced he's gonna faint here on the spot, knocked out by a power so unimaginable that he doesn't even have words to describe it properly.

But before his vision goes black Castiel suddenly presses a finger against Victor's forehead and relief is running through the agent's body like he never felt before. Every single muscle in his body rejoices in delight and all at once even the mere idea of losing consciousness seem absolutely ridiculous.

Victor blinks a few times and stares at Castiel's pinched expression. Dean told him a few times that the angel is capable of healing people, but Victor actually never believed he'd be able to experience this first hand.

“I'm so sorry,” Castiel whispers, his voice barely coherent. “I didn't mean to …”

For a moment Victor doesn't know what to reply. He merely gapes at the man – _the angel_ –, wondering if the last two minutes seriously just happened or merely had been a freaking hallucination. But a glance at the broken windows and busted light bulbs reminds him pretty quickly that yes, a motherfucking angel of the Lord just shook the whole precinct.

Hell, perhaps even the entire city.

Yeah, Victor honestly didn't consider to write this on his agenda for the day.

“I'm so sorry,” Castiel goes on and on, like a broken record, looking anguished and so freaking guilty it rips Victor's heart in half.

“It's alright,” Victor assures him as soon as he finds his voice again. He's not exactly sure whether that's completely true or not, but hell, Castiel doesn't need even more on his shoulders than is currently weighing him down.

Victor tries to scramble back on his feet and it works surprisingly well. It looks like even the pain in his left ankle (which regularly flairs up due to some injury a couple of years back) seemed to have disappeared and Victor feels in awe at that revelation.

Is that what happens when you're touched by an angel?

Victor doesn't have time to dwell on this for long, however, as he notices Simpson suddenly appearing in the doorway, looking rattled and concerned and way over his head. An alleged earthquake can do that to a man.

“We're fine,” Victor says straightaway before Simpson is even capable to open his mouth to ask about their well-being. He merely hopes that he sounds confident and professional enough and not like a guy who basically stared into the face of God just seconds ago. “Look after your men first. Make sure nobody got hurt.”

Castiel moans lowly at the last statement as he sinks his gaze in shame.

“We should evacuate the building and call the Fire Department, just to be safe,” Simpson says, apparently already having set his mind to it, but still somehow waiting for Victor's approval in that matter.

“Of course,” Victor agrees instantly. “Safety comes always first. You should do the arrangements, I will stay with the prisoner for the time being.”

Simpson simply nods and rushes off as fast as he came.

Victor turns back to Castiel right away. “We should hurry, I don't know how much time we have left.” He bites his bottom lip. “Does shit like this happen often with you?”

Castiel shakes his head. “I don't know … this isn't supposed to happen …”

Victor shuts his eyes for a moment. Damn, his weekend took a very bad turn all of a sudden.

“Okay, we have to get you out of here,” Victor decides. “I have no idea what strings I will have to pull and how many favors I have to collect, but I can't leave you here, for your sake as well as those peoples' sake.”

Victor has to apply for a transfer right this fucking second and he's already calculating the best excuse possible for that. Bringing up the Winchesters' names would probably get him the best results, but Victor isn't exactly sure he's ready to risk that case yet. It took a lot of effort into letting it stay closed for almost a decade now, he'd hate to see it reopened.

But on the other hand, if he doesn't have a choice anyway …

“I will get you out of here,” Victor promises. “And then we'll look for Sam and Dean –”

“Dean …” Castiel murmurs, his eyes lighting up for a second. “I think … I think I remember where he is.”

Victor breathes a sigh of relief at that. At least that's something.

“Charlie,” Castiel whispers, seemingly grasping desperately at that one memory as though he's afraid he might lose it again in the next second. “He's with Charlie …”

Charlie?

Well, contrary to Castiel Victor actually met Charlie once. A quirky and rather lively redhead who speaks in riddles most of the day. She had been at the bunker at the time Victor paid them all a visit, looking so much at home like she actually lived there.

Dean always speaks rather fondly of her. She's like the sister he never wanted, but is happy to have anyway.

And if Dean is seriously with her right now …

“You mean he's visiting her?” Victor urges. He doesn't want to think of Charlie being involved in this too somehow, maybe lying in some ditch, bleeding out slowly. Yeah, he _really_ doesn't want to even consider that.

“Yes,” Castiel agrees, appearing a bit surer in his own assessment. “Dean … he went to visit her. A few days ago … I believe.”

He crinkles his forehead and Victor has no doubt in his mind that Castiel lost every concept of time somewhere along the way. He probably doesn't even realize he's sitting in this cell for almost two days now.

“Are you sure about this?” Victor asks skeptically.

“Dean took The Colonel with him,” Castiel explains, more to himself than anyone else, like he has to prove something to his own mind. “I recall him searching the kitchen for those special dog treats he purchased a while ago. He calls them Scooby Snacks, always with that wide grin on his face. The Colonel is not amused by it.”

Okay, that sounds like a fairly specific memory.

Granted, it still might be that he's confusing timelines and Dean taking the dog and visiting Charlie happened like a month ago, but Victor will take what he's gonna get, at least for the time being.

It does make some sense, though. Dean mentioned swinging by Charlie's place the last time Victor spoke with him, so it's at least not completely made up out of thin air. And admittedly, Dean not answering his phone is worrisome, but the reasons for that might be totally harmless and normal. Like him just sleeping in, enjoying his little vacation. Or maybe him and Charlie having a movie marathon with loud High Definition speakers or whatever you wanna name it, making it nearly impossible to hear your fucking phone ring.

It sucks and the timing is terrible, but he seriously might be okay.

Absolutely oblivious to what is happening, but okay.

“So Dean's safe?”

Castiel grabs the bar even tighter and nods. “Yes. I think.”

He still doesn't sound entirely certain, obviously not trusting his mind completely, but for now he has some hope.

“Do you have Charlie's number, maybe?” Victor asks. “I think that idiot Winchester really needs to know what's going on.”

Not that Victor has any idea what's actually happening.

But the thought counts, right?

“I don't know where my phone is,” Castiel admits, grimacing. “And … I can't remember Charlie's number. I mean, I should, but there's _so much_ and I don't …”

He appears like he's close to drifting off again and Victor hastily grabs his wrist once more. It helped before and now it seems to ground the angel as well. As though the touch is making him focus on the here and now, the actual present, and not some faraway wonderland.

“But I remember where Charlie works,” Castiel offers after a moment of silence.

Victor nods. “Perfect.”

It's a start, at least.

“And Sam – you've got no clue where he is?” Victor bites his bottom lip as he shoots a quick glance at the hallway. Some officers are rushing by, accompanied by a bunch of fireman, and Victor feels himself tensing up. He doubts they have much time left before they'll get company again. And who knows when he'll get the next opportunity to speak to Castiel alone?

“What's the last thing you remember?” he encourages the angel. “I mean, were you on a hunting trip with Sam or something? Is that how you ended up here in Colorado?”

Castiel frowns, like the mere idea is strange. “No. We stayed at the bunker.” He lowers his gaze as he adds in a whisper, “We promised Dean. _I_ promised Dean.”

Victor steps closer. “So you promised Dean you'd stay at the bunker?”

Castiel nods in agreement.

“And you can't recall ever leaving it in the first place, with Sam?”

Castiel nods again, but this time a bit tentative. It's apparent he's realizing what Victor is getting at.

“You assume Sam is still in the bunker?” the angel asks cautiously.

Victor shrugs. “It might be possible, right?” he wonders. “Dean told me a while ago that those British Men of Letters basically threw you out of the bunker with some sigil and sent you halfway across the country, didn't they? What if something like that happened again?”

“It wasn't _halfway_ across the country …” Castiel objects, “... but you do have a point.”

He tilts his head back and forth for a moment, apparently evaluating Victor's suggestion from every angle imaginable, while the agent doesn't wait around to dig his phone out of his pocket and light up the display.

“It is as good a theory as any,” Victor mumbles. “We should check it out, just in case, right?”

Maybe Sam is seriously still at the bunker, lying on the floor, bleeding all over the place. At least it would explain why Simpson and his men weren't able to find any trace of him beside the blood on Castiel's coat until now.

Castiel, however, still seems hesitant and Victor can't really tell whether he finds the whole suggestion just laughable to begin with or whether, in the back of his mind, he just knows it's not right, even if he can't really define why.

So yeah, perhaps it'd be a waste of time, but hell, Dean would kick Victor's ass to next Sunday if they wouldn't exhaust any possibility there is.

“I'm gonna try reaching Dean first,” Victor decides. “And if that son of a bitch still doesn't answer his fucking phone I'm gonna send someone over to the bunker. We can't wait around any longer.”

Castiel straightens his back, looking alarmed. “You can't just send someone to the bunker!”

Victor grinds his teeth. He _knows_ that … but still.

“You've got a better idea?” he wonders. “I've got people all over the country. Some in Lincoln, a few maybe even closer. There are scattered _everywhere_. They could be on scene in no time at all and unless you have some little friends who are in close proximity to Lebanon and could reach it quicker than my men, I think we should risk it.”

Castiel appears like there is something dying in his mouth as he suggests, “Maybe Crowley …?”

Victor scoffs. God, what is his life now?

“You remember _his_ phone number?”

Castiel scowls, making it more than obvious that no, he has no fucking clue how to reach the fucking King of fucking Hell, unless not without a time-consuming ritual, Victor presumes. And there's honestly no freaking time for that!

“Listen, I know it sucks, having the FBI in the bunker,” Victor concedes, “but if Sam's really there –”

Like before the mention of Sam's name sparks something alive in Castiel. His features darken as he glares at the phone in Victor's hand, the finger hovering over the display, ready to call the cavalry.

“Do it!” the angel orders instantly, his voice allowing no objection. “We're gonna deal with the consequences later.”

Victor can't exactly say he likes the sound of that, but _screw it_.

Sam's life might depend on it.

And by the look on Castiel's face he would do _anything_ to save him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I know, not really that much questions answered.  
> But it'd be kinda boring if I'd tell you everything from the beginning, right? ;D
> 
> At least Dean's fate seems a bit clearer now - and a little birdie told me the next chapter might be in his POV, so look out for that ;)
> 
> Oh, and yeah, Dean keeping The Colonel around after "Dog Dean Afternoon" is a special weakness of mine, so you're gonna have to live with that ;D You'll see more of their unique dynamic in the next chapter!
> 
> Until next time!


	4. Waffles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, welcome to the new chapter :D
> 
> As promised there's a change in POV and I hope you're gonna enjoy the experience! I certainly had fun writing it ;)
> 
> And it's a good point to remind you once more than this story takes place a few weeks after 12x12 "Stuck in the Middle (With You)" (since it'll be mentioned once or twice in this chapter).
> 
> Have fun ^^
> 
> -

Dean wakes up to the smell of waffles drifting into his room.

He finds himself smiling into his pillow as the delicious temptation reaches his nose, feeling all warm and happy. The last time he was jerked out of his slumber by someone else' cooking Sam almost burned down the fucking kitchen, so this is really a nice change of pace. Instead of fire and impending death just fluffy treats and the promise of a good morning.

Dean glances at the alarm clock next to his bed and notices that it's already after 10 AM. Their “Star Trek” marathon last night took way longer than both of them had anticipated, but since Charlie is burning off vacation days and Dean's enjoying some good old freedom neither of them bothered to watch the time too closely. Who the hell cares anyway? It's not like anyone would tell his mom or something.

A little clumsily he grabs for his phone on the nightstand, about to check for new messages, but is greeted with a black screen instead. Dean grumbles a little at that discovery, cursing the battery of that stupid thing once more. About a decade ago cell phones could easily stay alive for days or even weeks without a care in the world, and now you're happy if they manage twenty-four hours without dying on you.

“Some things were seriously easier back then, right, buddy?” he says to the room, looking down at the rug beside his bed, fully expecting a pair of brown and round dog eyes to meet his gaze … but instead there's just nothing.

(Okay, well, the rug, of course. But that's about it.)

Dean furrows his brows. Usually The Colonel likes to rise with the hunter, no matter the time of day. It's a little routine they have adopted over the years and though Dean hadn't been truly happy with it at first, more than once stumbling over the body sleeping next to his bed and almost breaking his neck in the process, now he can't really imagine anything else.

So it feels a bit weird being all alone for a change.

Dean, however, doesn't dwell to much on it as he rolls out of the bed very ungracefully and staggers to the bathroom to take care of the usual businesses. For a minute he considers taking his sweet ass time and maybe catching a nice, hot shower (because he deserves it, _dammit_ ), but the waft of waffle seduction is getting stronger by the second and he quickly decides to postpone any lazying around for later.

He can't let get them cold, can he?

That would be a crime of the highest order.

And so Dean finds himself hastily changing into something halfway decent and absently plugging his phone in before rushing toward the kitchen, right at the deliciousness' headquarter.

And instantly he's met with the most wonderful sight.

“Aw honey, you shouldn't have.”

Dean looks at the huge stack of waffles that enthusiastically greets him as he enters the room and his grin turns so wide it almost splits his face. He loved Charlie before, no doubt, but right now his chest is on the verge of exploding from all the fuzzy feelings eager to break free.

“Will you marry me?”

Charlie snorts into her morning coffee and assesses him with a raised eyebrow. She seems relaxed, her hair fixed up in a messy bun, indicating that she probably hasn't been awake that long herself, while she shakes her head in quiet amusement at Dean's antics.

“Sweetheart, that's seriously a tempting offer,” she says, chuckling, “but I'm afraid you've got the wrong parts. Sorry.”

She points at his crotch and grimaces hard.

Dean merely grins at her before shooting a quick glance at The Colonel, who's lying right in front of the oven and has been watching the hunter's arrival with moderate interest. “Can you believe that girl?”

The dog only huffs and focuses his attention back to the waffles, the hoggish bastard. Apparently acknowledging Dean's existence for more than a few seconds with mouth-watering food in the same room is too much to ask for at this point in their relationship.

So much for love and whatnot.

They forget so easily.

Dean drops onto the next available chair, his face in perfect line with the delicious smelling epitomes of sin right in front of him, and sighs overdramatically, cursing the injustice of life itself. “Why would my packaging be a hindrance, huh? I mean, you could make waffles, I could cook burgers – we would be perfect for each other. The Super Couple of the century, capital letters and everything.”

To Charlie's credit she actually considers the idea for 0.2 seconds, quirking her head to one side and probably mulling over all the different possibilities that would entail being married to Dean Fucking Winchester, but in the end she sympathetically pats his shoulder and says, “Sorry, pal, but I love boobs way too much.”

Fair enough.

“Fine,” Dean fake-grumbles. “But you're missing out, honey, I hope you know that. I mean, I've got a sweet ride, a huge house, an awesome plaid collection, a killer music compilation …”

“ _Tapes_!” Charlie reminds him, widening her eyes in mock shock. “They’re _tapes_ , Winchester! I mean, _come on_!”

Some people really don’t know what’s good.

“They’re classic.”

“You’re such a dinosaur sometimes.” She shoves a big piece of waffles into her mouth and studies him with sparkling eyes. “That’s honestly not a compelling argument here, buddy. My coffee maker turns me on more than your music collection.”

Dean grimaces. Seriously?

“You need proper education, kid,” he decides eventually. “And as your devoted husband I’d be more than happy to help you out.”

“Wow, how generous and condescending of you,” Charlie replies, dead-pan.

“Of course you can teach me a lot of other stuff in return as well,” Dean offers, putting a tad too much whipped cream on his waffles and not giving a damn, totally ignoring Sam’s voice in his head warning him about cholesterol and sugar overdoses and the general end of the world, _again_. “I mean, you’re the Queen of Modern Technology. I’d be your humble servant.”

This time she seems at least a little pleased at the picture, smiling to herself as she probably imagines Dean crawling on his knees right in front of her and begging for life tips. “Well, that doesn’t sound _so_ bad …”

“And what’s mine is yours, naturally,” Dean adds, grinning widely. “So you’ll be co-owner of my mediocre dog over there.”

He throws a smug smirk in The Colonel's direction who reciprocates Dean's gaze with an highly unimpressed expression.

(Like seriously, if Dean didn't know better, he'd say that's the perfect mirror of Sam's bitch face #38: _“You think you're funny, Dean, but you're really not.”_ )

(That stupid dog is way too real sometimes.)

Granted, maybe that's just Dean's imagination since that time they were able to communicate with each other for a day and half a few years back. He still hears The Colonel's voice in his head, still sees him as much more than “just” a dog, and though they're not capable of understanding one another perfectly anymore, there's yet a lot going on between them.

And sometimes it's creepy (like the times Dean notices The Colonel just watching him intently and the hunter finding himself wondering whether he's being scrutinized on a whole new level), sometimes embarrassing (Dean can't even change in front of him without blushing), and most of the time a big pain in the ass altogether.

But he loves that son of a bitch anyway.

“Aw, he’s not mediocre,” Charlie jerks him out of his thoughts, instantly dashing toward The Colonel and ruffling his fur, like she fears his poor heart is about to break into a million pieces if she wouldn’t interfere fast enough. “He’s the best.”

“Yeah, alright, he’s above average,” Dean admits, sending a shit-eating grin in the dog’s direction who simply stares back at him and probably wonders whether it’s indeed impossible for his kind to roll their eyes or not.

“He’s such a sweetheart,” Charlie says in an exaggerated, high-pitched voice while pressing her forehead to The Colonel’s and cooing at him as though he’s a freaking newborn. Granted, Dean told her about his unique meeting with this particular dog and about the fact that he (and most likely dogs/animals in general) is far smarter and more advanced than stupid humans might even fathom, but more often than not Charlie tends to forget that and falls back into instinctual baby voice behavior. It’s almost painful to watch sometimes, especially when Dean thinks about all the conversations he had with The Colonel in that short time he was able to actually understand him, but he doesn’t have the heart to berate her and the dog seems to love her deeply and unconditionally anyway, so it’s not that he terribly minds that much.

Yeah sure, Dean would get a death glare if he’d ever dare to speak to the dumb dog like that, but Charlie always gets a free pass, no matter how silly she sounds.

It’s almost unfair.

But then again, Dean can kinda relate. Even insulting his beloved music collection would never make him appreciate her less.

“And for The Colonel's sake I would actually consider marrying you,” Charlie admits, burying her fingers deep into the dog's fur, turning his scowl into a blissed out expression.

“I feel honored,” Dean says mockingly. “In the end it's _the dog_ who gets me the girl.”

Charlie smirks at him. “Isn't that how it always works?”

Dean can't really argue her point there. Since having The Colonel at his side much more women are approaching him, appearing right next to them out of thin air and gushing over the dog while simultaneously flirting shamelessly with his owner.

Yeah, the dog indeed lured a bunch of girls into his net, Dean can admit to that.

And that's probably one of the main reasons why Charlie always insists to take him for a walk when they visit. She's using The Colonel's chick magnet powers for her own gain as well and Dean can totally relate.

“But seriously, I really appreciate you cooking for me for the last few days,” Dean says eventually, smiling softly now. For emphasis he digs into the big pile of waffles on his plate and moans appreciatively because _damn_ , that woman really knows how to handle her food.

“It’s the least I can do,” Charlie states, waving her hand dismissively. “I mean, you came all the way here to fix my car, I totally owe you. You saved me a small fortune.”

Dean can’t really fight her on that.

Admittedly, there only had been a slight problem with a few cables (apparently some small rodent gnawed at them at some point), but Dean can easily imagine a garage pushing a huge bill into Charlie’s hands for replacing those few parts.

So yeah, when she called him about a week ago, wondering whether he’d have the time to stop by sometime soon and save her like a knight in shining armor (her words, not Dean’s), Dean didn’t hesitate for long. There hadn’t been any cases on the horizon and since that shit show with Ramiel and the Lance of Michael and Cas almost dying, _again_ , that black goo oozing out of his mouth, he becoming weaker and weaker by the second, and Dean feeling like he was dying too …

Yeah, Dean really needed a break after all this.

So Charlie’s invitation to come over and spend a couple of days with her (“ _Vacation, baby!”_ ) couldn’t have come to a better time. He had gotten restless at the bunker, anxious, always checking up on Cas and probably mother-henning him to a point where even the angel gently asked for some peace and quiet …

Okay, Dean can take a hint.

So after making Cas promise that he would keep resting, at least for a little while, and that he’d not leave the bunker, under any circumstances, Dean felt comfortable enough to leave his angel and his brother alone for a few days.

What could go wrong, right?

“And my cooking is nothing to cry about,” Charlie resumes their conversation, jolting Dean out of his thoughts. “I’m not that good.”

Dean shrugs his shoulders. “It’s been a long while since someone cooked for me, y’know? Both Sam and Mom are more or less just hopeless in the kitchen and Cas' idea of cooking is glaring at the ingredients hard enough until they magically transform into a meal. As you can imagine, he hasn’t been very successful so far.”

So yes, it feels nice having someone cooking just for him.

“So, how is everything, back home?” Charlie wonders, trying for casual, like this just popped up in her head and hasn't been lying on the tip of her tongue for days now.

Dean's actually surprised she was able to wait that long. He expected her to pester him with questions as soon as he arrived, but obviously he looked so exhausted and done with the world that she tamed her burning curiosity for the time being instead and focused on distracting the hunter with broken cars and movie marathons.

But now apparently she deems him settled enough to endure the emotional questioning.

Dean takes a deep breath, bracing himself. “Home is … fine,” he says, carefully. “I mean, it's awesome with having Mom back … but also kinda weird … and then there are the British Douches of Letters, naturally – not really sure what to think about that one yet …”

He shrugs one shoulder, hoping to make it clear that there's way too much going on right now to draw a straight line.

Charlie nods along, seemingly getting his point. “Yeah, I guess, it's quite a lot. Especially with your Mom …”

Charlie hasn't met her yet, but of course both Dean and Sam told her all the details, even the uncomfortable ones. One night, right after Mary left the bunker “to find herself” or whatever, Dean got a bit buzzed and eventually called Charlie, resulting in him starting to ramble about the whole fucked-up situation and revealing more about his inner feelings to her than he had ever planned.

Thankfully the next morning Charlie didn't pick up on that. Sure, Dean's quite certain she thought about it, probably dying to continue their conversation and have some adult talk about fuzzy feelings and stuff, but knowing Dean for a long-ass time now and learning his character fairly well over that period she's very aware that forcing the hunter to talk about his emotions would be the wrong move for everyone involved. So instead she waited for Dean to come forward on his own, no matter how long that might take.

And Dean seriously appreciates her for that.

“Yeah, Mom ...” he says and instantly trails off, making it apparent for Charlie that he's still not really ready to talk about it.

And as expected Charlie picks up on that straightaway as she immediately changes the topic. “Well, and I guess your last case added to that messy pile, huh? I mean, Eileen told me about that ancient super weapon and how it almost killed Cas …”

Dean feels his throat constricting at the reminder.

He would love to forget it, not think about it for at least a few hours on a row, but those pictures seemed to have burned themselves into his eyes, not giving him any opportunity to rest for long.

He sees Cas, lying there on the ground, unable to move.

So weak, his irises glassy, his skin clammy.

And that black ooze …

_(I love you.)_

_(I love all of you.)_

Yeah, Dean _seriously_ doesn't want to even consider what he almost lost that day.

So eventually he finds himself shooting Charlie a look and decides to focus on the one thing in her statement that appears harmless enough for now. “You're talking with Eileen?”

She raises her brow, most likely knowing fairly well Dean is merely averting her question, and for a minute there it seems like she'd press some more for Dean finally opening up nonetheless. He already begins to prepare for the inevitable while simultaneously wondering whether faking a heart attack would get him out the situation. Granted, not the smoothest solution, but Dean worked with worse.

However, thankfully Charlie opts for the easy way out – at least for now – and lets it pass.

“Yeah, of course I'm talking with Eileen,” she says like it's the most obvious thing in the world. “Remember how we met at the bunker a few months back? When Sam introduced her as his girlfriend to me and was blushing so much I worried he'd pass out the next second?”

Dean chuckles at the memory. Yeah, the whole thing with Sam and Eileen hadn't been official for that long of a time back then and his awkward moose of a brother transformed into a useless pile of goo around his new girlfriend constantly.

Well, okay, even now he's still more or less useless in Eileen's company, but at least it has gotten a little better.

“Yeah, I think he's on the verge of asking her to move in with him,” Dean says, grinning lopsidedly. “At least recently, when we're talking about her, he always looks at me funny, like he's so fucking close to asking me something super important he needs my permission for.”

Dean really hopes Sam will get it over with sometime soon.

“I mean, he should know I wouldn't mind having her around,” he says, shrugging. “She's kinda awesome. _And_ she makes those amazing crepes. So what's not to like?”

She is good for his brother and Dean can easily imagine her being a fresh breeze of positive air in the bunker as well.

And so he keeps rambling about her and their nice little love story filled with rainbows and cotton candy because this is overall much safer territory than anything else Charlie wants to talk about. And though she doesn't seem impressed by his distraction tactic and even The Colonel looks at Dean like he knows exactly what the hunter is doing, they both indulge him for the time being.

And so Dean uses the chance.

Unfortunately he's interrupted pretty quickly – right in the middle of the beautiful fairy tale of Eileen braiding Sam's hair as he fell asleep on couch and taking dozens of blackmail photos right after – as Charlie's phone suddenly starts to ring very insistently, stopping Dean's stream of words quite abruptly.

Charlie flinches for a moment, obviously engrossed in Dean's story despite everything, and groans immediately as she glances at her phone’s display that shows DARREN in big letters. “ _Why_?”

Dean raises a brow. “Who is Darren?”

“My boss,” she explains, the corners of her mouth drooping. “He knows he isn’t supposed to call me while I’m on holidays, so either he is stupid or there’s a fucking emergency, _because why not_?”

Dean has no real idea what she’s doing at her job at the local software firm, but her work hours are very flexible and she earns quite a lot of money. At least enough to afford this nice loft apartment, the newest computer gadgets and new LARP outfits every few months.

She’s making a name for herself – as Dean never doubted she would – and enjoying her life, going to work and making honest money, while more often than not using her skills to help the hunters in her free time.

However, right now Charlie doesn't seem happy about any of this as she begrudgingly answers the phone and practically bellows, “Dammit, Darren, this better be important, or else I'm gonna mail your browser history to your freaking girlfriend next thing today!”

Dean chuckles underneath his breath. He's quite sure that this is usually not the tone you're supposed to talk to your boss, but Charlie has always been different. Not to mention that this Darren guy is probably terrified of her and the things she might do anyway.

“A _phone call_?” Charlie scoffs so loudly The Colonel actually starts to shoot her a dirty look, not pleased by the sounds coming out of her mouth. “You're bothering me because someone called for me at work? Like seriously, Darren, why? Just tell them I'm on vacation and that I'll call back as soon as soon …” She halts as Darren probably continues his explanation. “Um, _what_?”

Suddenly she looks shell-shocked, the color quickly draining off her face and Dean immediately hears the alarm bells inside of him ring. He straightens his back and leans closer, hoping to catch more words.

“ _The FBI_?” Charlie eventually squeaks. “The fucking FBI has been calling because of me?”

The  _OH SHIT_ is written plainly on her face.

For a minute she doesn't seem to know what to say, just gaping like a fish and staring helplessly at Dean, like she hopes he might be able to make this okay just by snapping his fingers.

Fuck, he wishes.

“Dammit,” he curses low-key. “What did you do, Bradbury?”

Charlie scowls at him after covering the phone's mouth piece to not let her boss overhear. “You mean apart from hacking top secret websites to help the whole hunter community –  _nothing_ !”

Dean bites his bottom lip.

Ah shit.  _Of course_ Charlie would eventually suffer for helping them out, what else could it be?

Their lives are unfair and everyone they love has to pay sooner or later. Dean really should've seen that coming.

Mentally he instantly starts to pack, his gaze flickering around the apartment to assess what is important enough to take with them and what could be left behind without much of a bad conscience, while he desperately suppresses the strong wave of guilt washing over him. Right now he's got no time for a pity party.

He's already on the verge of leaping to his feet and grabbing the nearest suitcase when suddenly Charlie grasps his wrist and keeps him at place while listening raptly to Darren's further explanation of the situation, her expression quickly changing from panic to bewilderment. Whatever her boss is telling her, she obviously has a hard time processing it.

“Can you repeat that agent's name again, please?” she asks into the speaker, her eyes doing something Dean's unable to decipher. “Okay, okay, that's … well, yes, he's here … no, there's nothing shady going on, Darren, _c'mon_ … Can we talk about this later, huh? I need to take care of this first, okay? … Yeah, bye –”

And then she hangs up and her eyes immediately fix on Dean.

“Where is your phone?” she asks with an urgency in her tone that makes the hunter shiver involuntarily.

“My phone?” he wonders, frowning at her. Why the hell would that be important? “Who cares, dammit? What's with the FBI, Charlie? Are they onto you? Should we –?”

“Where. Is. Your. Phone?” Charlie repeats, emphasizing every single word.

“Um …”

For a moment Dean has no idea how to answer that. He only recalls eating waffles and feeling fairly happy and content thirty seconds ago. Nothing else mattered.

“I … I think I plugged it in this morning,” Dean vaguely remembers, scratching his forehead. “Why is that important right now? The FBI –”

“It's not _the_ FBI looking for me,” Charlie explains, scrambling onto her legs and moving toward Dean's room, most likely to retrieve the oh-so-valuable cell phone or whatever. “Just _one_ specific agent.”

Dean's immediately hard on her heels, not eager to miss even a millisecond of what the hell is going on right now. At the corner of his eyes he notices The Colonel falling into line as well, probably having felt the sudden change in mood very easily and now keen to not let them out of his sight.

“What agent?”

But as soon as he asked the question Dean senses a lightning running through his body. Is it possible …?

Is she talking about …?

“Victor Henriksen,” she instantly answers, her expression hard. “I think we have a big problem.”

 _Shit_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The whole time I was writing the better part of this chapter, depicting Dean so happy and relaxed, I couldn't help thinking the whole time, "Aw honey, you have no idea what's coming for you, you poor guy!" >.<
> 
> I should've just let him stay in his happy bubble for a while longer, right??
> 
> Yeah, sorry for that ^^'  
> I hope you had fun anyway!
> 
> Until the next chapter!!


	5. In Case of Emergency

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, since I left you hanging on a rather mean note last chapter, I'm just gonna say 'Have fun' and leave it with that ;D
> 
> -

Dean almost has a freaking heart attack when he finally turns on his phone and notices the sheer amount of unanswered calls and text messages staring him right into his face.

 _Fuck_!

“Oh shit!” Charlie agrees with him, looking over his shoulder with widened eyes. “That can't be good.”

Indeed.

It seems like the first calls came in close to midnight. Right at the time when they both had been deep in their movie marathon, Charlie's awesome Dolby Surround System so fucking authentic he totally missed his phone going crazy. And soon after the battery most likely died due to the consistent calling and Dean was way too tired to think about checking it before heading to bed.

 _Dammit_.

Dean doesn't waste any more time and instantly pushes on the call button without a second thought, his chest tightening painfully.

Victor picks up after the second ring.

“Thank the _fucking_ Gods, Winchester!” he groans in relief, like a thousand pounds weight has just been lifted from his shoulders. “Don't you dare _ever_ doing that to me again, do you hear me? _EVER_!”

Dean's heartbeat picks up even more at the tone in his voice. He sounds like he expected the hunter to be lying dead somewhere in the ditch or something.

“What is going on, Vic?” he urges, his whole skin prickling as though it's on the verge of catching fire any second now. “What the hell is so important that you had to call at Charlie's workplace and freak out her boss? Is someone dead?”

Victor falls silent for a moment. “Um …”

“Oh God, someone is dead, right?” Dean clenches his hand into a fist. “So what happened? Did vampires invade the FBI building? Is a demon possessing the president? And why didn't you call Sam? You've got his number, too, haven't you? You don't have to go through such extremes to –”

“I'm calling _because_ of Sam!”

Victor's voice is hard and shaky and it makes Dean shut up right away. He feels himself freezing as the images of the text messages captured LIFE AND DEATH suddenly pop up in front of his inner eye again.

“Sam?” Dean asks, his pulse racing now. “What's with him?”

Charlie perks up beside him, studying him with a concerned expression, and before Dean even knows what's happening she suddenly rips the phone out of his grip. Dean instantly makes a disgruntled noise, glaring at her accusingly, but she simply ignores him as he switches to speaker phone and places the device back into his hands.

She obviously doesn't want to miss a thing and Dean can't really berate her on that.

“Okay, there's no way to sugarcoat it,” Victor says, inhaling deeply. “Two days ago the police in Lafayette, Colorado, picked up a man after he publicly killed a guy basically in front of the whole freaking town. The cops arranged an analysis of his blood-drenched coat and learned that one of the samples on the fabric actually belongs to Sam. So they called me because I've been the lead agent on your case, as you maybe remember from two hundred years ago –”

He rambles on, apparently trying to deal with the stress that's been building up inside him for a while, while Dean stares at his phone in utter disbelief.

Is he seriously hearing that correctly?

“What are you even talking about?” Dean interrupts quite sharply. “Sam is back at the bunker.”

“And when was the last time you spoke to him?”

Dean opens his mouth, more than ready to give him hell, but then he halts as he tries to find the right answer to Victor's question. He sincerely wants to claim “Just yesterday” and dismiss the whole thing as some sort of misunderstanding – that kind of stuff happens like all the time, right? – however, when he tries to recall his last contact with Sam he encounters some trouble getting the correct time frame.

Dean remembers quite vividly that it's been a string of texts – merely them joking around about unimportant things while Dean subtly attempted to get a few updates on Cas' condition without appearing too much like mother-hen again –, but he can't really place when it happened exactly. For a brief second he's absolutely convinced it's just been the day before, though thinking about it more closely now it might also have been two days ago. Spending time with Charlie and having one movie marathon after another seriously blurred all of that together somehow.

So yeah, perhaps it's been a bit longer than Dean realizes.

But still …

“What are you telling me here, Victor?” Dean asks, his entire body tense. “ _Colorado_? There's a guy walking around with my brother's blood on his clothes, is that it?”

Dean's insides actually start to jolt as his overactive brain immediately begins to consider the possibilities.

How did it land there? Is it fresh blood or maybe from an old hunt sometime ago? And _what the hell_?

“I figure you tried to call Sam?” Charlie pipes in, apparently noticing Dean's inner freak out without much difficulty. She lays her hand on his knee and squeezes it slightly while offering him a small smile in comfort.

“Hello, Charlie,” Victor greets her first, always the gentleman. “And yes, I did. As much as I tried Dean, maybe even more. No answer.”

Dean feels a bit dizzy all of a sudden.

He just wanted a few days of vacation and lazying around. Was that already too much to ask for?

“What about Cas?” Charlie wonders. “Have you tried to reach him?”

Dean's head snaps up.

 _Cas_.

Of course.

“Well, I don't have his number,” Victor explains before Dean's even able to wrap his head around it. “Not that there's any need right now considering we finally met in person anyway …”

Dean raises his eyebrows incredulously at that statement.

 _What_?

This is getting confusing very fast.

“Okay, man, I seriously don't understand,” Dean cuts in, already feeling a major headache coming his way. “You're saying … that Sammy doesn't answer his phone? And you met Cas?”

What the fuck?

“Yep,” Victor agrees easily.

“But … _how_?” Dean shakes his head, not sure what to think of this. “I mean, are you at the bunker?”

It would make sense, meeting Cas there, right?

It seems logical enough.

But then Victor answers, “Nope, I'm in Colorado,”, crushing all of Dean's hopes for a moderate plausible explanation.

“In Colorado?”

“Yep.”

“Where you met Cas?”

“Yep.”

What. The. Hell?

He shoots a glance in Charlie's direction, kinda wishing she would have some answers ready for him on the silver platter, but unfortunately she appears as bewildered as he is, perhaps even more so. She merely wrinkles her forehead in utter puzzlement and mouths _What is happening?_ to him.

Yeah, Dean can relate to the feeling.

“Why the fuck would Cas be in Colorado?” Dean asks through gritted teeth. “He promised he'd stay at the bunker.”

He _swore_.

Dean made perfectly sure of that.

“And even if he would've decided to take a trip to freaking Colorado, he would've told me about it.” Dean feels confident enough in that assessment. “Victor, man, are you really sure you've been talking with Cas? I mean, the _real_ one? This could be some fucking ruse to –”

“Dean, he caused _a motherfucking earthquake_!” Victor interrupts in a very sharp tone, his knuckles cracking even audible through the phone. “So don't tell me I have no idea what I'm dealing with, _boy_. I know _exactly_ what's right in front of me!”

Dean feels his jaw going slack. “An earthquake?”

Okay, it's official now.

He's still fast asleep and dreaming some very weird shit up.

Because _this_ , this doesn't make any sense whatsoever.

“How about you just tell us the entire story from the beginning?” Charlie suggests, her voice so calm and collected Dean once again can't help feeling grateful having her by his side. “Right now this whole thing is all kinds of fuzzy from our end.”

Victor takes a deep breath, as though he's actually annoyed they don't grasp the gist with that terribly scattered information thrown at them, but eventually he complies. “The quick version, though. Time is of the essence.”

And so he starts.

With his FBI colleague practically invading his personal space last night, choking that case down his throat. With the killer's coat covered in Sam's blood. With the murderer identified as James Novak, aka Cas himself, now sitting in fucking county jail in Colorado of all things. With Cas not really having the slightest clue what even happened to him. With the ground beginning to shake after Cas' emotions ran rampage. And with their hunch that Sam still might be at bunker, injured or even worse …

More than once Dean feels the need to cut in, to ask literally million of questions, to scream _“Are you fucking serious?”_ right into the phone's speaker.

But Dean stays silent.

Mainly because it seriously seems like they can't afford to waste any time with interruptions and side plots, but also because Dean's still frozen on the spot, not feeling any wiser than before. Is this story supposed to make any kind of sense now? Is this for real?

Dean has no clue what the fuck is going on.

He only knows one thing: his family is in trouble.

And for now that's all that matters.

So he shoves all the powerful emotions desperate to overthrow his brain and render him useless as deep down as possible and switches his hunter mode back on. He doesn't have time for stupid feelings clouding his judgment and preventing him from doing his job.

Not now.

“So let me get this straight,” Dean jumps in after Victor finishes his report. “Cas suddenly appears in Colorado and kills some dude out of the blue, for everyone to see. With Sam's blood on his trench coat.”

He bites his bottom lip as that image appears before his inner eye. It seems so wrong, imaging that piece of garment which Dean has been associating with the angel since day one now sullied with his little brother's blood.

So wrong.

“And he hasn't the faintest idea what happened to Sam?” Dean inquires.

Victor hesitates for a moment. “He's … he's obviously got some trouble remembering.”

Dean doesn't like his tone at all. There's more to it than that, more than Cas most likely being hit hard by some spell that compromised his memory for the time being, however, for some reason Victor doesn't seem eager to voice his doubts. Maybe it's just the whole situation in general (which is, quite frankly, rather unorthodox), maybe it's something very specific that makes the agent pause.

“I wanna talk to Cas!” Dean urges, the need almost overwhelming.

It almost killed him, leaving the angel behind in the bunker. Cas still had been weak after their meeting with Ramiel and Dean's desire to just wrap him in thousand blankets and never letting him out of sight was stronger than ever before. The whole thing shook him to his core, made him realize with absolute horror what he almost lost, and it drove him crazy to even picture a different outcome.

If Crowley wouldn't have shown up and destroyed the Lance …

 _Fuck_ , Dean doesn't want to consider it.

It took so much effort to eventually leave Cas behind at the bunker – after practically _a million_ reassurances by both the angel and Sam that they would stay put, no matter what – and now to see his nightmare have come true nonetheless is the most awful feeling. Why did he even bother to think that things would go smoothly for once? How _the fuck_ could he be so stupid to believe that the universe wouldn't screw them over _again_?

Things never go their way. _Ever_.

Dean seriously should've learned that lesson a long time ago.

“I need to talk to Cas,” he repeats once more, the demand in his tone replaced by a plea so raw and human he probably would've been embarrassed under different circumstances. He _needs_ to hear the angel's voice. He _needs_ to know that the guys is at least somewhat okay.

However, Victor crushes his hopes as he says, “Sorry, man, but that's not gonna happen.”

Dean feels very sick all of a sudden. “C'mon –”

“Dean, he's a _murder suspect_ currently surrounded by at least four police officers,” Victor reminds him, his voice harsh, yet understanding. “I can't just give him my phone like that, it would raise like a trillion uncomfortable questions. I can assure you he's fine for now, but that's all I can give you for the moment.” He takes a deep breath. “There are rules and regulations for fucking everything and if I don't play by the book, I will lose this case faster than you can blink.”

Dean presses his lips into a thin line. He doesn't like it, _at all_ , but unfortunately the agent has a strong argument here. Having Victor on this case is a godsend and they can't afford to jeopardize that.

Granted, they could come up with some plausible excuse if they put their minds to it, but it still would be a risk.

A risk that might cost Sam his life.

And that's what they should focus on right now.

So Dean inhales deeply, chasing away the images of Cas close to death out of his head, and asks, “So you think Sam is back at the bunker?”

Part of him just wants to leap to his feet and rush over to Lebanon to make sure for himself. To _do_ something at least.

Anything.

But there are still so many unanswered questions and Dean just can't drive around blindly because of the off-chance his brother still might exactly be where he left him, contrary to the angel. Not to mention that the bunker is in the opposite direction of Lafayette right now. Dean might lose very precious time if he'd jump the gun too soon.

“It's as good a guess as any,” Victor says. “Castiel can't remember what happened and the bunker is the last place we know for sure Sam has been. He indeed might still be there or maybe we'll find at least some clues on the scene. One way or another, we can't pass up on checking it out.”

Naturally he's right on that, the bunker would be the logical place to start without much to go on.

But Dean doesn't really wanna think about the scenarios waiting for him there. If Sam's seriously been at Lebanon the whole time Cas has been sitting in prison – _two whole fucking days_ , according to Victor – there might be a very horrible reason why he hasn't tried to contact anyone yet.

Shit.

“I'm currently organizing my people,” Victor continues, his voice all business, though there is a strain to it, like he has to force himself to stay professional on this one. “I've got a bunch of guys close to Lincoln who could be in Lebanon in no time at all –”

“Wait, wait!” Dean cuts in immediately, his body tensing up uncomfortably. “You wanna send _your_ guys? _The FBI_?”

Victor scoffs, obviously not very delighted by the hunter's tone. “You've got a better idea? Like I said, my people are close by and if Sam is really back at the bunker, apparently unable to pick up his damned phone for whatever reason …” He takes a sharp breath. “I know this is a huge risk, but Sam's life is on the line here and I don't think we have time for another option.”

Dean shuts his eyes for a moment.

The idea sounds awful – having the authorities rummaging through the bunker's room, running their hands all over humanity's most important secrets without having a clue what they're really dealing with –, but is there honestly much of a choice? Sam might be back at the bunker, clinging to life, and every second wasted could be one second too long.

And right now none of their friends would be close enough to beat the FBI there, at least to Dean's knowledge. Jody is in Sioux Falls, doing her thing, Donna is back home as well, Mary is gone with the wind again …

Dean hates this, _so much_ , but Sam's well-being is much more valuable than anything. Always has been, always will be.

“Okay, you're right,” Dean agrees, his chest clenching hard. “Call your people, tell them to hurry up and make sure they _don't touch anything_ since the last thing we need are a bunch of agents ending up cursed or even worse only 'coz they're stupid enough to not keep their hands to themselves –”

“Yeah, yeah, Winchester, don't worry, I didn't forget about that.”

“And tell them to ignore every speed limit possible …”

“Naturally –”

“And I'm not sure what they're gonna find, but opening the front door with force will trigger a very loud alarm –”

“Yeah, I still remember how to disable that one, trust me –”

“How about we try yet another option first?”

The sudden rise of Charlie's voice next to him makes Dean flinch involuntarily and he quickly shoots a glance in her direction. She raises a pointed eyebrow at both of them, apparently not impressed by their emergency planning, and simply shakes her head at them right before leaping to her feet and rushing to the doorway.

“Don't let the FBI anywhere near the bunker yet!” she commands, no objections allowed. “I'm gonna fetch my laptop real quick and then we can check what's going on in Lebanon in thirty seconds.”

Dean wrinkles his forehead, feeling way too overwhelmed all of a sudden. “What are you talking about?”

“Did you seriously forget the security system _I_ installed a few months ago?” she asks incredulously. “I get that you're quite emotional right now, but _c'mon_ , man, I designed the whole thing for exactly this kind of situation, so you really should remember it. Thank God you have me.”

With these words she rushes off, leaving Dean behind gobsmacked.

Right.

The security system.

After the arrival of the British Men of Letters and their rogue bitch breaking into the bunker and taking Sam hostage, the brothers decided that additional security measures would be necessary. So Charlie spent a very long weekend installing cameras in all the important strategic places next to motion detectors, heat sensors and whatnot. Neither Dean nor Sam wanted a repeat performance of crazy Women of Letters walking in and out of the bunker unobstructedly anytime soon.

So Charlie helped them out with all her modern gadgets. And made sure that you could have access to the system from anywhere on the planet.

“Ah shit, how could I forget about that?” Victor exclaims, jerking Dean out of his thoughts. “I mean, you were bitching to me about that an entire afternoon.”

Yeah, Dean hadn't been entirely happy about cameras invading his living space, feeling like his privacy and his home might be restricted all of a sudden. So Charlie made extra sure to only install them in the open areas, like the entrances, hallways, the war room and the library, and left out anything else. The private rooms, the bathrooms, even the kitchen have been a solid no-go zone right from the start.

And since only themselves, Charlie and Jody in case of emergency have access to the system to begin with, Dean learned to live with it in the last couple of months. Hey, apparently after a while he even forgot about its existence in the first place.

And now he's very grateful they made that decision.

It might not save Sam's life directly, but it would give them answers if sending the fucking FBI inside would be necessary or not.

Waiting for Charlie to return seems like an eternity (though it's probably only been half a minute at the most) and Dean finds anxiety gripping his whole being, making it harder to breathe. He had no time to process all of this yet and he still feels way too steamrolled to get a good grasp at what is really happening.

Victor's voice is floating back to his ear again, but Dean registers right away that he's not the right recipient for now. It seems like the agent is barking some orders around, most likely getting back to his colleagues he actually meant to send to the bunker, making sure that they stay put for at least a few more minutes. Dean can't really understand what he's saying (Victor most likely placed his cell phone on the side and switched to the landline to contact his people), but he's not very eager to have the whole experience anyway. As long as Victor holds his horses for the time being, Dean couldn't care less.

Suddenly he notices something wet touching his hand and he looks down where he is immediately met with a set of big dog eyes staring right back at him. The Colonel placed his head in Dean's lap, probably for comfort and support, for himself as well as Dean, and the hunter finds himself smiling softly down at him as he buries his fingers in the dog's fur.

Back then it had been a spur of the moment decision to take him with them and though Sam had been delighted beyond belief about their new family member, Dean felt a bit uncertain about his choice for several months, wondering more than once whether he made the right call. But in moments like this, feeling a warmth in his heart just by knowing that there's someone at his side no matter what, he just knows he's been right all along.

“Everything will be alright, buddy,” Dean reassures him quietly. “Sam's gonna be fine and Cas …”

They will all be okay.

Because Dean seriously doesn't wanna even consider the alternative.

Eventually – finally – Charlie comes back into the room, her laptop open and ready to go.

“I already started the system,” she explains. “It always needs a moment to boot.”

Soon enough Dean looks at several little screens, all showing different areas of the bunker. It feels a bit surreal, eyeing them from another angle than he's used to, and for some of them it takes him a few seconds to recognize what exactly he's even looking at.

One thing, however, Dean notices right away: the bunker seems absolutely untouched and peaceful.

The hunter expected chaos, blood on the wall, books and papers scattered everywhere. But instead it appears neat and orderly, just the way Dean left it behind days ago. The only thing slightly out of the order are a couple of open books on one of the library's tables, with a coffee mug sitting right beside them. But apart from that everything appears normal.

A quick glance at the garage also shows that every vehicle seems to be accounted for, including that pick-up truck Cas got himself a while ago. However the angel ended up in Colorado, he sure as hell didn't take one of the cars at the bunker.

“I already started the heat sensors and motion detectors,” Charlie informs them. “They didn't pick up anything.”

Dean takes a sharp breath. “So there is nobody inside?”

Charlie pulls a face as she admits, “Well, nobody alive.”

 _God_.

Not the words he wanted to hear.

But yet again, the pictures of the peaceful bunker set him at ease at least a little bit. It doesn't seem like there had been a big fight anytime in the past.

And Sam wouldn't go down without a fight, Dean knows that better than anything.

So what does that mean? Where's Sam? How did his blood end up on Cas' coat? And what the hell is the angel doing in fucking Colorado, getting himself arrested?

“Do your cameras only capture the present or is there some kind of recording?” Victor's voice pipes up once more, sounding contemplative as his investigator brain kicks back into action. He's probably more annoyed than Dean about this whole situation and wants to see it resolved as fast as possible. He has done a lot of things for the brothers over the years and having it on the verge of collapsing just like that isn't really the sort of fun he most likely had been expecting for his weekend.

“Well, I only got the best of the best, so recording there is,” Charlie announces proudly. “Just give me a time and date.”

The shuffling of paper is following immediately as Victor probably looks through his files to search for the required data. “Wednesday, 18:46 PM,” he eventually says. “That's the time Castiel got arrested by the Lafayette Police.”

Charlie huffs. “That's oddly specific.”

“Well, your angel killed a man in broad daylight on the populated town's center, with plenty of cell phones capturing the whole thing. The time frame of the murder hasn't been difficult to figure out.”

That's yet another thing: Who the fuck did Cas even kill? Victor had been very vague on his description earlier, making it pretty apparent he didn't give the murder victim much thought in the light of Sam's disappearance. And Dean certainly gets that, it's not his first priority either, but for some reason Cas saw it necessary to kill this man with his angel blade next to a bunch of witnesses and that couldn't have been a small thing.

Has that guy – Roger Dylan, if Dean remembers correctly – something to do with Sam's sudden absence?

It sure would explain Cas going all badass supernova angel on him.

“Just give me a few minutes,” Charlie mutters meanwhile as she types away on her keyboard, absolutely captivated by all the numbers suddenly popping up on the computer screen. “Recording is not the main feature of the whole system, so it takes a moment to set it all up.”

Her fingers fly over the keys, like it's the sole purpose she has been born in the first place, and Dean can only stare at her movements in incredulous awe while The Colonel studies her as though he's fearing for her health.

“Don't worry, we should have some answers soon enough.”

And Dean really hopes she is right.

  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time you're gonna get some answers ... and even more questions ;D
> 
> Until next chapter then!!


	6. Disturbance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here we are again :D
> 
> Sorry it took a bit longer this time, but I was wrapping up a big, long-time project which took a bit longer than expected. But now it's finished and I can happily focus on this fic :)
> 
> So, without further speeches, I just hope you'll enjoy the chapter ^^
> 
> -

In modern computer jargon “soon” obviously means “a fucking eternity”.

After watching Charlie doing her thing on the laptop for a while, feeling fucking useless in the process, Dean eventually gets into gear, figuring that doing _something_ is better than doing _nothing_. And after realizing he's somehow still in his freaking sleeping clothes, he starts to strip right there on the spot, totally ignoring Charlie's vehement lesbian protests in the light of that new development.

“Oh, don't get your panties in a twist,” Dean grumbles as he shucks his sweatpants somewhere near his duffle bag and grabs the pair of jeans he wore the day before. They're fine for now and it's not like anyone would judge his wardrobe anyway.

“But why do you have to do this _right in front of me_?” Charlie protests, sounding like she never experienced that much misery in her life ever before.

“'Cause you're in _my_ room, sweetheart,” Dean reminds her with an eye-roll. “Don't worry, I won't flip my bits around or something.”

“You better not,” she mutters before fixing her gaze back on the screen.

Dean shakes his head in exasperation, but in the end decides to ignore her for the time being.

“Okay, Vic,” he says loudly instead as he's ungracefully fumbling with his pants, “if that video recording won't show us anything helpful, I'm gonna be on my way to Lafayette next thing. I'm not really sure how long I'd take, but I guess I can make it in about three hours …”

If he ignores every speed limit along the way.

Which Dean totally intends to do.

However, Victor doesn't seem thrilled by that statement. “No way!” he grumbles. “I don't wanna see your face around here.”

Dean glares threateningly at the phone lying on the little table. Is this guy for real? “What the fuck?” he hisses. “You think I'd stay away?”

Even the mere notion is absolutely absurd.

As if he would _ever_ leave his family behind.

“Dean, we have to be smart about this,” Victor throws in, his voice tense. “And you showing your stupid freckled face here in Lafayette is the opposite of that.”

Dean narrows his eyes. “And why is that?”

“Why do you think, dumbass?” Victor snorts. “After finding Sam's blood all of a sudden everyone is taking an interest in the Winchester case again. You remember that thing? With that long list of felonies and stuff?”

Dean grimaces. He doesn't like being reminded of that. They busted their asses so many times, saving people left and right, and all it got them was a freaking crime record longer than Sam's ridiculous hair.

Sometimes he really wonders why he didn't listen to that job counselor in high school back in the days and become an engineer instead. It would've saved him a lot of trouble.

“Every single police officer in Lafayette has been looking at that file,” Victor says with emphasis. “Which includes your fucking Bambi face. You're still officially considered dead, but believe me when I tell you that the people around here are on high alert and you showing up in town might end up in your arrest pretty quickly. And I'd really like to prevent that if possible.”

Dean clenches his hand into a fist. Of course Victor has a strong point here, it certainly wouldn't do them any good seeing him in custody again, but it hurts to imagine he can't just walk into that police station and talk to Cas.

“I can't stay away,” he says nonetheless because it's the fucking truth. Not when the people he cares about most in the world are in trouble.

“I know,” Victor states, his tone getting a bit softer now. “You should get a motel in the next town over and stay low until I've got more control over the situation. So far it's still officially police business, but I ain't got my badge for nothing.”

Dean feels some relief rushing through his system. Having Victor on their side has been a blessing more than once so far and the hunter thanks their lucky stars every single day for that.

“ _And_ you need to ditch the Impala.”

Okay …

Maybe Dean shouldn't send out thank you notes just yet.

“What the hell?” the hunter grumbles, not at all pleased by the sheer thought of leaving Baby behind.

“Oh please, Winchester,” Victor scoffs, sincerely not impressed by Dean's tone. “Your car is way too auspicious. I seriously have no idea how you managed to stay out of sight all these years with that thing roaring so loudly walls start to shake.”

Dean's scowl deepens even more.

Perhaps he should reconsider that friendship again. Victor has clearly lost his mind.

“He does have a point,” Charlie suddenly has the audacity to pipe in as she shoots him a crooked smirk. “Don't get me wrong, Baby is sexy as hell, but she's honestly the wrong choice for any kind of undercover work.”

Well, it's official then.

Dean needs new friends.

“What a happy coincidence that you just finished fixing my car though,” she adds. “Perfect timing, I'd say.”

Dean pulls a face at her. “Full offense, Charlie, but your car is a yellow abomination. It's not less auspicious than Baby.”

“But it's not associated with that FBI Winchester case and _that's_ what's important here.”

Dean curses underneath his breath. He seriously hates to admit it, but they do actually have valid arguments here. If those Colorado cops indeed buried their noses way too deep into those old files they certainly ordered a local lookout for a 1967 Chevy Impala and Dean can't have ending up exposed because of that. He's not allowed to make any stupid mistakes while Sam's life is on the line and Cas is rotting in a prison cell, probably about to be transferred to who knows where.

No, Dean needs to keep his head in the game.

And if that means to leave his car standing a few more days in Charlie's parking lot, so be it.

“If you're too embarrassed to be seen behind my car's wheel, I can totally take over driving for you,” Charlie offers while her fingers simultaneously fly over the laptop's keyboard again. “I mean, I know you're a control freak about those things and you can probably get us to Colorado in less than forty minutes or whatever, but it's just a friendly suggestion.”

Dean raises a brow at her. “That sounds suspiciously like you're expecting to come with me.”

Charlie scoffs and shakes her head as though she can't believe the level of stupidity she has to deal with on a regular basis. “That's _exactly_ what it sounds like. Because _newsflash_ , I'm not staying here like an innocent damsel.”

Dean can't help a very unattractive snort in response to that. “No way in hell you're coming, Bradbury!”

Charlie side-eyes him, her expression so thoroughly unimpressed Dean's almost in awe of the _not-giving-a-shit_ aura surrounding her. “You can't expect me to twiddle my thumbs and do nothing.”

“And you can't expect me to drag you _and the freaking dog_ along with me!” Dean counters through gritted teeth. He's worried enough as it is, he seriously doesn't need further distractions.

Charlie doesn't bother even looking at him while The Colonel throws him a death glare. Though he doesn't fully understand what's going on, he obviously doesn't appreciate Dean's tone. _At all_.

Great.

“I'm not saying I will jump on the first chance of danger,” Charlie says after a moment of tense silence. “But an extra set of eyes can't hurt and I might be able to do a lot more with my special skills if I were on-site.”

Dean bites his bottom lip as his scowl deepens.

“Besides, you're not the boss of me,” she reminds him. “I _will_ go to Lafayette and you can't stop me.”

“I could chain you up here,” Dean proposes, smirking at the mere thought.

Charlie, however, only blinks before exchanging a very distinctive _is-this-guy-for-real_ glance with The Colonel. “Seriously? You wanna leave me here, all by myself, without any clue how long you'll be in Colorado? Days? Weeks?” She huffs a hollow laugh. “You wanna see me starving and peeing myself, living in my own, disgusting filth –”

“Okay, _fine_ , I get it!” Dean hastily cuts in before she could get too graphic on him. Charlie has the uncanny ability to make things as vivid as possible – probably a side-effect from reading all that fanfiction – and he honestly doesn't need yet another nightmare to the ones he already has, thank you very much.

“I won't put myself knowingly in danger,” she promises, her voice a tad softer now. “I don't wanna be a liability, trust me. But I just can't sit around here, wondering what is happening, you know? No idea if I'll be able to help much, but fuck, even wrapping Cas and Sam in some blankets would be better than nothing –”

Dean pulls a face. He hates to admit it, but he can relate to her. _Of course_ he wouldn't fancy sitting around on his ass either.

It's unfair to expect it from her.

“Okay, fine,” he concedes. “ _If_ you stay out of trouble.”

Dean anticipates some snark remark coming his way, a funny quip to lighten the mood, but instead Charlie looks him dead in the eyes, her expression more serious than he's ever seen before, and promises, “I will, don't worry.”

Dean feels some of his muscles unclench.

It's good to know she doesn't take the whole thing lightly, at least.

“Great,” Victor suddenly pipes in again. “With you around, Charlie, the chances of Dean doing something stupid will be significantly smaller.”

Dean pouts at that accusation while Charlie can't help a stifled laugh, unsuccessfully trying to cover it up as a cough.

“Keep him in line, Charlie,” Victor says. “I have to go for now. I think the firefighters are almost finished checking the building and I wanna stay close to your angel.”

Dean tenses once more.

_Their_ angel.

_His_ angel.

Damn, Dean wants to run over there so badly.

“Yeah, keep a close eye on him,” Dean finds himself agreeing, his voice so hoarse that Charlie shoots him a funny look. “And tell him …”

Tell Cas what?

That everything will be alright?

That they're gonna find Sam and be back at the bunker by the end of the day?

Yeah, seems highly unlikely.

So Dean stays silent, not really sure what message he should rely to Cas anyway. Everything seems hollow, just empty promises. And that's the last thing he wants to give the guy right now.

However, Victor appears to get the sentiment nonetheless.

“I will,” he reassures the hunter. “I think he will be thrilled to hear you're okay.”

Dean swallows. “Then tell him that,” he urges. “That I'm okay. And Charlie. And the dog.”

“Consider it done,” Victor promises and after a quick goodbye hangs up, ready to go back to business and start to clean up the mess.

Dean takes a deep breath, emotions once more attempting to drown him, and he stares at his phone for way too long than strictly necessary, probably looking like a fool in the process.

Thankfully Charlie doesn't comment on it as she proposes, just a minute later, “How about you start packing up all the necessities into my car while I look through the video footage?” She instantly pushes her car keys into his hands. “It might take a moment and we shouldn't waste any time, don't you think?”

Well, he can't exactly argue with that.

So he grabs the duffle bag next to his bed where he stashed all the basic needs for a hunter – knife, holy water, gun, angel blade –, shoots a glance over his shoulder to The Colonel and says, “C'mon, buddy!” before rushing outside without looking back, knowing fairly well that the dog will be on his heels.

Charlie's monstrosity of a car is parked beside the Impala and Dean thanks their lucky stars for such convenience. It's always a lot of effort to deal with weapons and fairly occult looking stuff in broad daylight and Dean's glad he doesn't have to carry all the things across the parking lot while trying desperately not to appear suspicious.

It's not always the easiest.

Dean doesn't waste any time opening the trunk of Charlie's car and stash the things from the apartment inside (because despite being on vacation Dean never goes anywhere unarmed – a lesson hard learned) before moving toward the Impala and packing up the rest of the stuff. He left a bunch back at the bunker, especially the most valuable objects, but Baby has a standard equipment the Winchesters never mess around with, no matter where they're going. A little bit of everything, so to speak, so that they're prepared to handle any situation at any time, even while grocery shopping or going to the dentist (or more like Sam dragging his very reluctant older brother to the dentist).

It normally gets them around and has so far kept them alive (more or less) just fine.

And it has to do for now.

Dean throws everything that might be of value inside his bag and only stops in his motions and hastily closes the lid of the trunk when The Colonel suddenly barks once, indicating that someone is close by. The hunter throws a glance to the right side and notices one of Charlie's neighbors crossing the parking lot. The guy is solely focused on his phone and doesn't even spare them a millisecond of attention, but The Colonel watches him closely the whole time until he disappears around a corner.

“Good boy,” Dean praises and rubs the dog's ears once with affection. “Not sure what I'd do without you.”

The Colonel's chest seems to swell hearing that fond tone (even if he might not be able to understand them anymore) before going back into guard dog mode and searching the area for any possible disturbers.

Dean finishes the job quickly, happy not having to worry about people all of a sudden appearing next to him, and places everything inside the trunk of Charlie's car.

“Okay, buddy,” he says after shutting the lid, “we're gonna be stuck inside that car for a couple of hours, so if you need to take a leak, go for it _now_. There won't be any pee breaks for any of us in the foreseeable future.”

He points at a patch of grass nearby, hoping that the dog would catch his drift. The Colonel stares at him for a moment, his gaze almost as intense as Cas', before he finally decides that his bladder has priority right now and dashes toward the little scrap of nature to take care of his business.

Dean watches him a minute, making sure that no one is around who might feel uncomfortable with an unleashed dog crapping on their back lawn, when he suddenly feels a vibration in his pocket.

This time he doesn't fail to pick up his phone instantly, already feeling his heart starting to pound harder as he sees Victor's name again on the display. For a second there the hunter images the most horrible things and he feels his knees going weak at the sight of those pictures popping up in front of his inner eye.

However, as Dean realizes just a second later, it's merely a photo, with a **“I figured you'd appreciate it.”** textattached to it.

Dean squints his eyes, trying hard to recognize something despite the bright sunlight and it takes some turning and repositioning, probably looking like a dancing fool in the process, but eventually he's got a good enough angle to make out some details.

The picture is grainy, most likely due to Victor's ancient phone not having the best camera in the world, and quite dark, however, Dean believes to recognize a person.

A very familiar person.

_Cas_.

Dean's heartbeat picks up as he shoves the phone closer to his face to have a better view. The hunter can't really tell where Cas is in the picture, but he is standing upright and stares at something outside of the photo's frame. He appears uncharacteristically small, with someone obviously having thrown an overgrown coat over his shoulders at some point, and Dean feels the almost unbearable urge to pull the angel into his arms and never let go.

Unfortunately Dean can't really determine how Cas is doing. The angel never has been the most expressive of beings on the planet and though Dean has learned over the years to interpret every single twitch or slight head tilt with relative ease, the bad quality of the picture makes it absolutely impossible to distinguish any details.

At least Cas is standing on his own two feet without any help and that's at least something.

Dean sighs as his thumb involuntarily brushes over the screen, almost like a caress. He'd give almost anything to be with him right now, to tell him that all will be fine, that he doesn't have to worry.

Even if it would be a lie.

Dean doesn't know how long he stares at the picture, idiotically hoping that those blue eyes would turn toward him eventually, but when he feels something nudging his knee and he notices The Colonel impatiently trying to get his attention, he knows that he has been in some kind of daze for way too long.

So he inhales deeply and brings himself to close the picture and shoot Victor a quick text instead.

**Thanks man. You're right, I really needed this. Keep me posted, we're on our way.**

Dean bites his bottom lip and shuts his eyes, trying to collect himself for a minute there. It's hard not losing your head over this and though he has been in fairly dire situations before, it never gets any easier.

_Don't worry, Cas,_ he sends a prayer out in the world, hoping desperately that it'll reach his angel. _I'm coming for you._

  
  


* * * * *

  
  


“Did you find something?” is the first thing out of Dean's mouth as soon as he's back in Charlie's apartment. He steps close to her side and leans over her shoulder to take a look onto her computer screen.

“Well, kinda,” she says vaguely, apparently not really sure what to think. “I don't know what it means, though.”

She points at the laptop and Dean follows the gesture, studying the flat surface. And just a second later he frowns in deep confusion.

“What the hell?”

By the way the clock on the far right corner is counting backwards in high speed, it's obvious that Charlie is still rewinding the recording. However, instead of looking at clear pictures Dean sees himself confronted with gray snow.

“What's going on, Charlie?” he asks, gritting his teeth. “Is that some sort of malfunction or what?”

“Not the normal kind,” she replies, her voice tense. “The system is programmed to inform me if there is any kind of interference. The usual stuff or even tempering. This is high quality equipment, it just doesn't stop functioning for no reason.” She side-eyes Dean as she hesitantly adds, “I think this is not a _natural_ kind of disturbance.”

Dean should've already guessed, but he hates to hear it anyway. Why is the supernatural always so eager to piss into his Wheaties?

“When did this start?”

“No clue,” Charlie admits, pulling a face. “So far I've covered about the past week. Snow the whole time.”

Dean clenches his hand into a fist. The entire week?

Fuck, even _he_ had been at the bunker at that time and he didn't notice anything. No one did, not even Cas and his tingling angel senses.

What the fuck?

“When did it stop, though?” he wonders, leaning closer. “I mean, the real time picture of the bunker was perfectly alright.”

Nothing had indicated that there had been any kind of interference in the first place.

“It stopped on Wednesday, at exactly 18:41 PM,” Charlie announces.

Dean feels something prickle underneath his skin and he finds himself creasing his forehead in bewilderment. “Wednesday?” he asks, shaking his head. “But … that was only a few minutes before Cas got arrested in Colorado, right?”

Charlie nods in confirmation, her expression absolutely grim. “Right.”

Damn.

Dean seriously has no clue what's going on anymore.

“One thing I noticed though is that it's not fully consistent,” Charlie explains, pointing at all the small screens. “Just look closer.”

Dean does as he's told and indeed he recognizes a couple of discrepancies just a moment later. Some areas of the bunker are completely unrecognizable, only wild snowfall all around, but a few are a little less terrible. Hell, on one of the tiny screens he can even marginally make out some shapes. It's still far from perfect, but it's certainly a difference.

“It changes,” Charlie tells him. “One time you can almost identify the library, in the next second it's totally impossible to distinguish anything. But then all of a sudden the garage isn't so bad anymore.” She takes a deep breath. “Hell, a few times I could even make out some of you guys. I'm pretty sure I've seen Sam for a moment, walking through a hallway. Cas sitting on a chair in the library. I think I've even recognized you and The Colonel once. And then a second later _boom_ , snow!”

She hits her palm hard onto the table, making both Dean and the dog flinch in surprise.

“Whatever this is,” she says with emphasis, “it's _definitely_ moving.”

Dean tenses at those words. “ _Moving_?” He starts to rub his temples, hoping desperately – but most likely in vain – that this is just a nightmare. “Are you implying … there is _something_ inside the bunker?”

Charlie throws her arms up into the air. “With you guys, anything is possible!” she declares, unfortunately having a point there. “Maybe it's a spirit or something? Do they interfere with technical systems?”

Well, they sure as hell can cause a lot of trouble.

_And_ it wouldn't be the first time the bunker is haunted.

God, Dean seriously hates his life sometimes.

“It could be,” he concedes reluctantly. “But still … how did Cas end up in Colorado, with his memory messed up? And where the hell is Sam?”

It doesn't really add up. At least it's not the MO of your typical ghost, not to mention that they added a bunch of precautions after their last haunting. It's not like spirits can walk around freely in the bunker anymore.

Well, at least not any _normal_ spirits.

But considering all the secrets the bunker still might've hidden from them, Dean wouldn't be totally surprised if some super ghost – or basically any other supernatural entity – would've decided to show up and ruin their weekend.

“It looks like right now Cas is our best shot of getting some answers,” Charlie says with a heavy voice.

The picture Victor sent him automatically pops up in Dean's mind and the hunter's chest clenches uncomfortably.

“Yeah, I guess you're right,” he mutters as he closes his eyes for a moment, hoping against all odds that everything will turn out okay for a change.

You can always dream, right?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will Dean and Cas finally have a face-to-face in the next chapter??
> 
> You just have to wait and see ;)


	7. Suit Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So guys, here we go again :D
> 
> I hope you are prepared for Dean and Cas to FINALLY be in the same room?  
> For a moment there I actually considered to cut the chapter off before that because it had gotten extra long this time, but then I figured I couldn't be THAT mean to you >.<
> 
> And so, without further ado: Have fun ^^
> 
> -

It takes them three hours and twenty-three minutes to reach Louisville, Colorado, the town right next to Lafayette.

As promised Dean didn't stop for any bathroom breaks or anything similarly inconvenient as he practically flew over the highways, forcing Charlie's yellow Bug to its limits and not giving a damn. He doesn’t have any time to waste and in case of need he would fix the frigging thing all over again as soon as everything would be settled again. For the time being he just knows he can get this thing to Louisville without it exploding right underneath their asses and that’s all that counts for now.

Meanwhile, Charlie is busy informing all their contacts about the current situation and wake up the whole network. Mary, Jody, Donna, Garth, the Banes twins and basically any other hunter and ally they could think of. Everyone is on high alert right away and instantly leap into action. Donna uses her resources as law enforcement to look for trails, Garth promises to keep his ears open in the supernatural communities, and the Banes’ already prepare some witchy voodoo to find Sam before Charlie is even able to finish her explanation of the events.

And Jody basically jogged to her car and drove toward the bunker as soon as she realized what was going on, planning to meet up there with Mary who immediately set out to her son’s home as well. Jody assured Dean to stay cautious and even keep some healthy distance if necessary, with all of them not really knowing what’s going on inside, but they’re both right in assuming to find some valuable clues like that. Sam might not be inside the bunker - hell, maybe he’s even in a totally different state, just like Cas - however, their intel on site could prove vital for their further investigations, concerning both Sam’s whereabouts as well as if there’s anything supernatural going on within the building.

Yeah, everyone drops what they’re doing in that moment without a second thought to help the Winchesters and Dean is highly grateful for that. He remembers a time when he felt fairly alone, just him and Sam against the rest of the world, and it’s really nice to see this has changed over the years.

“I still can’t reach Eileen though,” Charlie says, an edge to her voice, just as they pass a street sign that tells them Louisville is only five miles away now. “I’ve been trying and trying …”

Eileen had actually been the first Charlie attempted to call (via facetime, naturally), figuring the hunter would like to know about her boyfriend’s disappearance, but so far no luck. Charlie shot her several texts in the meantime as well, however, to no avail.

“It’s probably just a bad cell reception,” Dean tries to soothe her nerves.

For about three weeks now Eileen had been helping out a friend and fellow hunter who got hurt by a pissed-off ghoul about a month ago. Next to two broken arms the poor woman had to deal with severely bruised ribs, a dislocated jaw, and an annoying head injury that’s giving her lots of migraines and dizziness. As soon as Eileen heard about her friend being in trouble she rushed to her side (in a sleepy little town close to Canada) and has been taking care of her ever since.

“Do you think it’s possible she came back though?” Charlie wonders, chewing her bottom lip nervously. “Back to the bunker, I mean? Right on time for … well, whatever happened?”

Dean takes a deep breath. Of course there’s a chance and he hates to even consider it, but it could also be a pretty harmless explanation for it all. After all, she is (hopefully) in the middle of nowhere, right where phones happen to fail building up good connections. At least Sam had been complaining about that once or twice to Dean in the last few weeks, if he remembers correctly, so it seriously might just be some technological problems and nothing more.

Furthermore, the last time Dean spoke with Sam, his brother didn’t even hint at the possibility that Eileen might return sometime soon. Obviously the recovery of the injured hunter friend seems to take longer than originally planned, so Dean can’t really imagine Eileen returning back to the bunker just now. On the contrary, Sam sounded like he was considering driving up north to see her and help her out as soon as Dean would’ve been back home.

Sure, plans change and perhaps nobody had time to inform Dean yet before things turned into a big pile of shit, but for now the hunter would like to stay optimistic for a little while longer.

It’s already enough to worry senselessly about Sam and Cas, he seriously doesn’t need to throw Eileen into the mix as well. At least as long as he has no further information.

“She is fine,” he says with conviction, trying to reassure Charlie as well as himself. “She has to be. _They all_ have to be.”

Because Dean honestly doesn’t want to consider the alternative.

  


* * * * *

  


Louisville is small and unremarkable and seriously nothing to cry home about. But truthfully Dean couldn’t have cared less anyway, even if the town would’ve been the most exciting place on the planet, his mind is way too occupied with other things to pay attention to anything else.

The motel Victor assigned them to is just as bland and forgettable, but at least the room looks surprisingly clean and the walls are not covered in hideous wallpapers, so that’s definitely a plus.

The Colonel immediately walks to the bed nearest to the exit and lies down right beside it, declaring that piece of floor his property for the time being. He always chooses the same spot when visiting motels with the brothers, liking the fact that he has a perfect view on the door from that vantage point and also knowing very well that Dean will make that bed his own for the very same reason.

Dean can’t help a smile at the similarities between them and just a moment later he drops onto the ground next to the dog and rubs his ears affectionably, enjoying the feeling of soft and warm fur tickling his fingers.

“You’re a good boy, aren’t you?” he whispers, low enough for Charlie not to overhear to avoid any kinds of smug looks from her. “Always protecting your family.”

The Colonel proves just that only about ten minutes later when he suddenly leaps onto his paws, every part of his body abruptly standing at attention, and he starts to bark darkly at the closed door, indicating a potential threat coming their way.

It takes only a second for there to be a knock on the door and Victor’s unmistakable voice floating through the wood, exclaiming, “It’s me, don’t sic your dog on me!”

The Colonel immediately falls quiet as he recognizes the voice, his tail starting to wag as his glare morphs into excitement and he begins to do his typical happy dance, jumping back and forth and yipping like a goof.

Dean snorts in amusement while he scrambles to his feet and gives the dog one last pat on the head before heading toward the door.

The hunter just manages to turn the knob before Victor is suddenly standing right in front of him and pulling him into a tight embrace, squeezing all the air out of Dean’s lungs without any mercy whatsoever. “Fuck!” the agent growls. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

Dean simultaneously gasps for oxygen and pats Victor’s back in greeting while The Colonel joyfully bounces around them, apparently eager to join their hug, and Charlie merely grins in the background.

“Nice to see you too, Vic,” Dean croaks, wiggling somewhat to get a little space before his ribcage would start to crack.

Thankfully Victor eventually lets him go, a relieved smile still on his face as he assesses Dean from top to bottom, like he has to make sure that the hunter _really_ is okay, and then turns toward the enthusiastic dog and showers him with a few moments of his sole attention, including belly rubs and exaggerated high-pitched noises which seriously don’t fit to the image of the badass FBI agent, but still somehow create a whole picture anyway.

And then Charlie gets a hug as well, this one though gentle and affectionate, as he whispers something into her ear that makes her giggle for a split second and shoot an amused look in Dean’s direction.

“Okay, guys!” He clasps his hands loudly, ignoring the obvious side blow since they honestly don’t have time for this. “It’s nice that we’re all fine and everything, but the clock is ticking.”

Victor releases Charlie and turns on his heels, facing the hunter. “I hate to say it, Winchester, but you’re right for a change.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “How about a status update instead of smartass comments, huh?” he commands, scowling at the agent before activating his hunter mode once more. “Any news since we last spoke?”

There is something odd flickering over Victor’s features for a very brief second, but it’s gone so quickly Dean isn’t sure he only imagined it. “Not really,” he says. “The fire department declared the building safe again, so they brought Castiel back inside. This time, though, in some old cells at the end of the station since your angel destroyed all the windows and lightbulbs in the other one.”

Dean chews his bottom lip as he tries to make sense of it all. He hasn’t really focused on Cas causing a freaking “earthquake”, because of Sam and basically a hundred other things occupying his mind at the same time, however, now he can’t shake the feeling that he shouldn’t dismiss it again.

“So you’re saying Cas wreaked havoc?” Dean urges. “Just like that?”

It really doesn’t add up. Cas’ mojo hadn’t been up to full power for some time now. Dean doesn’t exactly know its full extent, mainly because the angel never offered information on that regard and the hunter felt it’d inappropriate to ask, but Cas hasn’t been shaking up buildings for _years_. Dean didn’t even think he still had it in him.

Obviously he was wrong.

Huh.

Victor, meanwhile, looks all kinds of awkward, fidgeting right there on the spot. “Look, I haven’t mentioned it before ‘coz frankly I didn’t wanna freak you out,” he says, apparently choosing his words carefully. “Our priority is finding Sam and I figured we should focus on that first, especially with not much to go on …” He takes a deep breath. “But I think there is something wrong with your angel.”

Dean feels his chest clench uncomfortably. He isn’t surprised by that statement - Victor acted weird when talking about Cas before -, but it’s not fun to have it spelled out.

“What are you talking about?”

Victor moves into the room and sits down at the edge of the bed next to the window, his expression sorrow as he avoids Dean’s intense gaze. “I’m not an expert on angels,” he clarifies instantly. “I’m sure you’re very aware of that. But Castiel … he’s acting like he’s losing it, man. He loses his train of thoughts in the middle of a sentence, he acts irrational and emotional, most of the time I think he doesn’t even know where he is, he’s causing fucking _earthquakes_ of all things …!”

Dean shuts his eyes for a moment, trying hard to calm his loud mind. This doesn’t sound promising at all, but it’s also - unfortunately - not the first time Cas acted out. Just last time, with Rowena’s attack spell fucking with his head, he became a unpredictable danger for anyone nearby.

Dean wouldn’t be surprised if something like that happened again - with their lives sucking real bad and everything.

Perhaps he was hit by a spell, right in the face? Or maybe whatever creature might be at the bunker has been messing with him, leaving him confused and unable to grasp reality?

Dean clenches his hand into a tight fist. _God_ , he seriously hates those supernatural forces playing with their lives like they’re some puppets in a fucking games!

Cas just got better after that whole Ramiel business - and now this!

Are they not allowed to catch a break at some point?

“I think,” Victor picks up his voice again, jerking Dean out of his thoughts in the process, “I think there’s even a chance that Castiel is the one who hurt Sam.”

At the mere idea Dean’s stomach begins to jolt and twist.

He wants to laugh this off or even yell, because Cas would _never_ hurt Sam _, not in a million fucking years_ \- but damn, Dean knows first hand what a strong enough supernatural influence can do to you. Absently he rubs at his arm, right where the Mark of Cain used to be for such a long time, and feels very sick all of a sudden.

What the hell happened in the last few days?

“Cas would _never_ hurt Sam!” Charlie pipes in, bless her innocent heart, as she glares at the agent like he offended her whole family.

And maybe, in a way, he even kinda did.

“I don’t like the idea either,” Victor says, sighing. “But he’s repeating ‘I didn’t mean to hurt Sam’ over and over basically since I arrived here -”

“That could mean _anything_ ,” Charlie cuts in harshly, scoffing at the agent. “It’s probably just some stupid guilt complex, the Winchesters are very good with this. That doesn’t mean -”

“Charlie …” Dean interjects, his tone soothing as he pats her back. “We don’t know what happened yet.”

Charlie looks at him incredulously. “You think _Cas_ hurt Sam?”

“ _Our_ Cas? Of course not!” Dean scoffs. “But Charlie … I’ve been in the business long enough. We tried to kill each other multiple times already. Remember when the Wicked Witch used me and Sammy as her little play dolls and almost made us hurt you?”

Charlie grimaces, apparently not happy by that reminder. But at the same time she seems to get his point.

“I hate to even consider it,” Dean continues, his voice low now. “Monsters and angels messed with Cas’ head too many times already in the past. He doesn’t deserve …” Dean trails off, biting his lips. Cas doesn’t deserve _any_ of it. And neither does Sam, wherever he is. “Whatever happened, it’s not Cas’ fault. But by the sound of it he might be a danger to others and we should get him out as quickly as possible. Nothing else matters for now.”

With these words he turns toward Victor, his gaze inquiring. “You have any news on that front?”

Victor sighs deeply. “A request of getting him transferred is already in process,” he explains. “I think that would be the best chance for him to ‘escape’. But stuff like that takes time, unfortunately.” He leans back, scratching his beard. “I also have a really hard time assessing your angel’s strength level in general. It took lots of officers to incarcerate him and, as mentioned, he casually made the ground shakes beneath our feet. But in the next second he looks like he can barely stand on his own two legs. I don’t know how much we can rely on him to get out of there.”

Dean’s expression hardens. “I need to see him.”

He has to get a picture of the situation himself. Look into Cas’ eyes. Hear his voice. Dean just can’t make any kind of decision without being face to face with the angel first.

“I know it’s risky,” Dean says through gritted teeth, “but I’m feeling like I’m flying blind here, man, and I _hate_ it -”

“I already figured you’d say something like this,” Victor cuts in, sounding resigned. “And since I know you’re stubborn and reckless, I tried to come up with something slightly less suicidal. At least I hope so.”

Dean perks up at those words. “And what would that be?”

“We’re using the justice system to our advantage,” Victor proposes, shrugging as though this should be a fairly obvious thing.

Dean, however, raises his eyebrows in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Castiel is a prisoner,” Victor clarifies. “And prisoners have rights.”

Dean doesn’t feel any wiser after that statement, just staring at the man in front of him with a blank expression. Charlie next to him, however, gasps quietly as she seems to catch on.

“Oh, you mean …?”

Victor nods in confirmation before turning toward Dean. “So Winchester, in all your life impersonating FBI, Homeland Security, State Police or whatever else, have you ever played an attorney?”

Dean blinks a few times while realization begins to kick in.

“Every prisoner has the right to be represented by a lawyer,” Victor explains. “So far Castiel has been sitting in that cell for over two days, without any legal consultation or even a medical examination although he’s showing clear signs of erratic behavior. I don’t really blame such a small police station in the middle of nowhere for such oversights, especially considering the fact that they’re obviously overwhelmed with all of this. They probably didn’t have a freaking murder since the dawn of time itself.” Victor shakes his head. “We can use that to our advantage, though. Them making mistakes like that gives us the opportunity to burn their asses and make them grovel before us. They won’t dare to question the FBI and some big shot lawyers, not when their jobs are on the line.”

Dean sure sees Victor’s point here. If those officers really messed up it might be a lot easier to get them to do whatever they want.

“So I’m playing a lawyer now?” Dean snorts. That’s definitely a first.

And he can’t help the pang in his chest as he realizes that Sam would be far better qualified for that. Hell, that stupid jerk studied in Stanford for this, after all. That’s exactly the kind of shit he planned to do before the hunting life dragged him back in.

“No, you’re playing an associate,” Victor objects, fixing him with a hard expression. “The associate who’s staying in the background and doesn’t look anyone in the eyes. Even the best disguise isn’t an absolute guarantee that someone won’t recognize you. So I’d advise you to keep in the dark, make fake phone calls or whatever, and let your boss handle it.”

He gestures toward Charlie whose eyes widen in surprise. “ _Me_?”

Victor shoots her a crooked smirk. “You having a problem playing Dean’s boss?”

Charlie snorts at the mere notion. “Of course not! That’s everyday life for me.” She winks at Dean, way too cockily. “But you really want _me_ to do this? I’m not, uh, the best actress.”

Dean can’t really argue with her. He vividly remembers the time when she had to pretend to be an FBI agent to help him out with that djinn case and she didn’t really pull off a brilliant performance. Granted, she was not as bad as Cas - alienating people with intense stares and talks about demons and angels roaming the earth -, but she wouldn’t get an Oscar nomination anytime soon for that either.

“Well, right now you’re the best we’ve got,” Victor presses. “Dean can’t just walk into the police building with his head up high. That would be beyond bold and stupid, even for him.”

Dean grimaces at his friend and seriously considers for a moment to stick out his tongue, like the mature adult he is.

“I will do most of the talking anyway,” Victor reassures her. “You just have to stand there and glare at the officers like you’re thinking about sueing all of them so hard even their grandkids will feel it. You think you can do that?”

Charlie takes a deep breath, looking back and forth between the men (and the dog, at one point), and eventually nods. “Doesn’t seem so hard, I guess,” she says. “Just glaring and scowling and remembering every single episode of _Law & Order _ I’ve ever seen.”

Victor pulls a face at that last statement, like it actually causes him pain. “Real life is _nothing_ like TV -”

“You want me to help or not?” Charlie interrupts, shaking her head. “So let me have this, okay?”

Victor releases a long-suffering sigh. “Fine,” he concedes. “Think about _Law & Order _ if that helps you. As long as we’re able to sell it, I don’t care.”

Dean slowly feels every single cell in his body coming alive again. Not feeling helpless and way over your head but having a concrete plan instead - it does wonders. His brain is already turning into overdrive, trying to assess everything they have to think of before walking into battle.

“We have to plan this very carefully, though,” Victor reminds them. “We have to catch the perfect moment and we need an absolutely solid background story because right after Castiel’s ‘escape’ questions will be asked and I’d rather have nothing getting back to me, alright? You have to be legit lawyers on paper, otherwise my superiors will start to wonder why I let some morons without any legitimate licenses near the prisoner.” He grimaces at the mere idea. “I would like to keep my job, if that’s okay with you.”

Charlie shoots him a crooked smile, like she thinks his lack in her abilities adorable. “Oh honey, don’t worry. We will be the best fake attorneys in the whole wide world.”

Victor still doesn’t seem entirely convinced and Dean as well can think of at least five thousand ways how this may go wrong, but for now this is their best option and he seriously doesn’t wanna wait around another fucking minute to see Cas.

So he states, “Let’s do this!”, hoping against all odds that they won’t blow their cover in the first twenty seconds.

But by the way The Colonel eyes him skeptically he seriously isn’t sure they will be able to pull this off.

 

 

* * * * *

  


In the end it turns out surprisingly easy.

Well, okay - surprisingly easy _for Dean_.

All he has to do is dress himself in a fancy suit and some nerdy Clark Kent glasses Charlie had been keeping in her trunk for some reason (and Dean really hopes those are LARP reasons and not something else), style his hair a bit differently and avoid anyone’s gaze as he stays in the background while fake talking into his phone and looking so annoyed and done with the world no one would even think about addressing him in the first place.

And it sure does work, as the cops are way too busy training their sole attention on the intimidating FBI agent and the red-headed lawyer with the death glare at his side to pay any heed to the stressed looking associate.

So yes, Dean’s part is easy.

But the whole thing took a lot of groundwork.

Charlie molded a solid backstory for them, so that Victor wouldn’t have to jeopardize his job. She created an entire law firm from scratch, consisting of herself, Dean (whose picture isn’t on the website “yet” because he conveniently joined the company only a short while ago) and some other fake guys, and let it look like a well-established institution right there in Pontiac, Illinois, only a few blocks from Jimmy’s old address. Dean thought it would be much more believable to pretend having been “Jimmy’s” attorneys all along, even back before his “disappearance”, instead of playing some random lawyers popping out of freaking nowhere, and Victor wholeheartedly agreed.

Now they’re here, posing as James Novak’s old lawyers.

Victor, on the other hand, made extra sure to catch the right time for their ruse. Avoiding the Police Chief, who might have asked a bunch more questions than his subordinates, had been high on his list. So instead of being faced with that Simpson guy they find a young cop named Finch in charge of the late shift. A man according to Victor scared so shitless of the agent and the whole institution of the FBI that he wouldn’t cause any sort of trouble.

And it totally seems to be working. While Victor chats him up and tells him about “negligence” and “the prisoner’s right to see an attorney” and “I just wanna make sure we have all our bases covered - we don’t wanna see that scumbag walk free because of a technicality, right?”, Finch only gets paler and paler and nods along to anything Victor has to say. He seems like he would’ve agreed to anything, even if Victor would’ve told him the greatest bullshit in the history of bullshit, and that’s exactly what they need right now.

Yeah, both Charlie and Victor planned this thing beautifully and Dean reminds himself to buy them a few drinks and cook them some burgers as soon as this shitshow is over.

Soon enough they find themselves walking down a bright hallway to the end of the building, right where Cas has been relocated after the “earthquake”. Victor takes the lead, striding forward like a man on a mission, and just a minute later ushers them into a small and unremarkable room Dean would’ve passed by otherwise.

At first glance the hunter can totally understand why those cells haven’t been in use for quite some time. The room is far from big and the whole layout is unpractical for keeping an eye out for the prisoners behind the bars. Too many dark corners, too many niches to secretly do stuff you’re not supposed to do …

Yeah, Dean seriously gets why the Police Department is using that room mostly for storage now.

But just a second later all these thoughts fly out of the window, probably to never return, as he notices the dark shadow shuffling in the first cell, obviously startled awake by the unexpected company, and the next thing Dean sees is a pair of startingly blue eyes looking at him.

It feels like his heart leaps into his throat as he croaks, “Cas!”

He feels relief flushing through his system at the sight of his friend standing and breathing and _being fucking alive_ all on his own. Relief and anxiety and fear and about a hundred other things all at once. It’s an onslaught and almost overwhelming, making Dean dizzy for about a second.

He wants to run toward Cas, break those stupid bars, even with his bare hands if necessary, and just make sure for himself that the angel is at least physically unharmed, but just when he’s about to move Victor grips his shoulder hard and keeps him right on place.

“Dude, _what the hell_?” Dean hisses, his glare probably the most murderous it’s ever been.

Victor, however, only shoots him a meaningful look and points right behind them at the wall, right above the door. For a moment Dean doesn’t know what he’s on about and he seriously doesn’t really care anyway, but then he spots the camera sitting right there, dutifully recording everything that’s happening in front of it.

“Let me turn off that thing first before you run toward each other in slow motion right on a flowery meadow, okay?” the agent grunts before grabbing a nearby chair and positioning it at the door, so that he can climb on top of that and put the camera to sleep for the time being. Dean can’t help a slight blush as he watches his friend for a moment, chastising himself for totally forgetting that Finch mentioned its existence and that they’re supposed to turn it off for their confidential lawyer-client visit.

But who can blame Dean for that tiny tidbit slipping his mind with Cas right there in front of him? The angel looks lost wrapped in clothes too big for him as he staggers toward the bars like a newborn not really sure how balance works and Dean just wants to wrap him into a blanket and never let go.

The last time Dean saw him Cas still had been a bit affected by his confrontation with the Knight of Hell merely weeks ago, but he was well on his way to recovery, already walking and talking about like a big boy. Dean at least felt comfortable enough to leave him with Sam for the time being.

But now? As he steps underneath the light Dean registers his pale skin, his bloodshot eyes, a slight twitch of his lips. He seems like he’s barely holding himself together, on the verge of collapsing, and Dean feels his chest clenching painfully.

_Damn_.

“Cas,” Dean whispers, facing away from the camera to hide his probably very emotional expression from the police. And just a second later, when Victor declares his task done and the red light on the device goes out, the hunter instantly rushes forward, not giving a damn about anything but Cas.

Unfortunately the bars are in the way, so he can’t just grab his angel and pull him into a bone-crushing embrace, but he nonetheless finds himself reaching out and letting his hands run over every inch of Cas’ body he’s able to touch, looking for any kind of harm.

Meanwhile, Cas lets himself manhandle without any complaints, even as Dean grips him by the collar of his shirt and drags him closer to the bars to have better access. He merely stares back, motionless, silent, and studies the hunter like he’s not exactly sure whether he’s dreaming or not.

“You okay, buddy?” Dean asks, his voice way shakier than he would’ve ever expected.

Cas’ features soften at the sound of Dean’s voice, but he doesn’t say anything. Just keeps looking. Assessing.

“Cas?” Dean tries again, with more emphasis. “You okay?”

Cas blinks and tilts his head in that very unique way of his.

And still keeps quiet.

Dean feels merciless concern gnawing at his bones, hating the vacant look in Cas’ eyes more than anything, and he immediately turns around to face Victor again. “You’ve got a fucking key for this cell?”

The agent shakes his head. “Too risky,” he apologies. “Sorry.”

Dean curses underneath his breath, but decides not to dwell on it. Victor already did more than enough for their sorry asses, there’s no need to get upset about a freaking key.

And after all, Dean’s father taught him from a very young age that a closed door doesn’t have to be a hindrance.

Thinking about the lockpick stashed inside his pockets Dean evaluates the cell door for a moment. It doesn’t appear too complicated and though he never tried to break _into_ jail before, there is a first time for everything.

But just as he’s about to let go of Cas to get to work and see that stupid door open, the angel’s eyes suddenly widen in panic as he feels Dean’s grip loosen and he hastily grabs the hunter’s wrist like a lifeline.

“Don’t,” he whispers, his tone unsteady as he fixes Dean with a pleading look.

Dean feels his heart breaking at the sight. Cas seems like he’s scared Dean would disappear into thin air as soon as their contact would be interrupted and he tightens his grasp into something almost painful. There is so much desperation, so much fear, and Dean seriously hates to see it right there on his best friend’s face.

_Shit_ , what the hell happened?

“Cas, it’s okay,” Dean reassures him, trying to sound as soothing as possible. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m _right here_.”

Cas just breathes deeply, in, out, in, out, obviously attempting hard to focus on the current situation at hand.

And he doesn’t let go.

“Cas, buddy,” Dean says softly, leaning forward as far as the bars between them allow. “Everything is alright.”

Cas frowns at that. “No, it’s not,” he objects and yeah, sure, he does have a point there.

But still.

“I’m _here_ , okay?” Dean assures once more. “I’m not a hallucination or a dream or whatever. And I don’t intend to leave here without you, you hear me?”

It’s certainly a promise he’s not sure he can keep - at least they won’t be able to bust Cas out _now_ , on short notice, without any proper plan or anything -, but he sure as hell won’t leave Lafayette without his angel and this is something he’d swear before God himself if necessary.

Cas, at least, seems to register the sincerity in Dean’s tone and his grip relaxes a little. He still appears hesitant to let go completely, though, and Dean can’t help wondering how long they might stay this way.

Minutes? Hours?

They don’t have that time, not with the police breathing down their necks, but nonetheless Dean is more than willing to indulge the angel as long as necessary, keen on never seeing that frightened look on his face ever again.

And if required he will pick that stupid lock with one hand only and fight this whole precinct just with a series of well-placed death glares.

After all, there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for his family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I mean, right? >.<
> 
> Sorry about that ^^'


	8. Penguins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys!!
> 
> Here we are again :D
> 
> And though it's actually my birthday tomorrow (or more like in two hours) I'm coming here and spreading gifts for you ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ So don't say I've never done anything for you ;p
> 
> This time the chapter is also extra long and you'll get FINALLY some answers about what's going on. I guess the next few installments are going to be quite enlightening ;)
> 
> So, without further ado, have fun!!
> 
> -

It turns out that Victor is also very good at lock picking.

After getting the tools out of Dean’s pockets it takes merely a blink of an eye before he’s got the door open, and when Dean eyes him with a suspicious look the agent only shrugs and explains, “What, you think they didn’t teach us the useful stuff in Quantico?”

And okay, yeah, that makes kinda sense. A highly trained FBI Agent - prepared for about  _ any  _ kind of situation imaginable - shouldn’t in the end fail only because of a locked door. That seriously wouldn’t be any productive.

“I’m gonna post myself outside on the hallway,” Victor says as he swings the cell door open. “We don’t want any surprises, right? Not to mention that I shouldn’t technically be present at this attorney-client conversation anyway.”

He tips his head toward Charlie who fumbles with her pressed skirt and seems way too busy to stare at Cas to acknowledge the agent in any way.

“Try to hurry up, though,” Victor urges, stepping toward the exit. “We should get out of here as quickly as possible.”

From a reasonable point of view Dean sure knows that Victor is right - after all, he’s in a fucking police building with his mugshot hanging all over the place -, but the mere idea of leaving Cas behind again makes him sick to his stomach. Charlie seems to share the sentiment as she grimaces hard like she’s in actual pain.

_ Damn _ , the whole thing is seriously a mess.

Dean watches Victor stepping into the hallway and closing the door behind himself before he dares to go inside the cell, right there with Cas, without any bars standing in their way. 

The angel slumped to the floor in the meantime, his legs obviously not strong enough to hold him for much longer, and Dean instantly falls onto his knees in front of him and runs his hands over Cas’ body once more, this time way more thoroughly, to make extra sure his friend isn’t hurt anywhere. At some point he even gets almost criminally close and personal, bordering on dangerously intimate, but Dean can’t bring himself to be bothered by it.

He  _ needs  _ to know that the angel is at least physically okay.

“We don’t have much time, Cas,” Dean whispers just as he runs his fingers through Cas’ hair, making the situation even heavier in many aspects than it already is. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine, Dean,” Cas says while he leans into the touch, almost greedily, so it seems. For a moment Dean even believes to hear him sigh in content.

“We  _ will  _ get you out of here, though, okay?” Dean promises with as much emphasis as possible. “If necessary I’m gonna bring this whole building down -”

Cas offers him a weak smile. He looks so freaking tired all of a sudden. “I’m not important right now.”

“But you  _ are _ ,” Dean presses through gritted teeth.

“I’m fine,” Cas insists instead, apparently deciding to ignore the desperation in the hunter’s tone. “Sam … Sam is the one …”

He blinks, trailing off again as he finds himself struggling with his focus once more.

It’s heartbreaking to watch.

But unfortunately he also has a point. Granted, Cas is far from  _ fine _ , but at least they know where he is and there’s apparently no immediate danger going on.

Sam, on the other hand ...

“Okay, Cas, try to concentrate,” Dean urges, his grip tightening. “You think you can do that?”

Cas looks skeptical at best, but he nods anyway. “I will try.”

“Great.” Dean flashes him a hopefully reassuring smile. “Just focus on me, alright?”

Cas nods again, this time a tad more determined. Fixing his whole attention on Dean is probably not that much of hardship for him and the hunter forcefully pushes down the confusing (and right now highly inconvenient) feelings that thought awakens inside of him.

“Okay, you told Victor that you don’t remember much of what happened, correct?”

Cas’ expression turns miserable pretty fast. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Dean is quick to soothe him and before he even knows what he’s doing, his hand settles on the back of the angel’s neck and caresses Cas’ nape in a way that’s probably not exactly considered platonic. But he doesn’t really care, especially when he feels Cas relaxing under his touch.

“Please, just  _ try _ , okay?” Dean says gently, leaning even closer. “Everything you can remember, even the tiniest bit, might be helpful.”

Cas presses his lips into a thin line and trains his blue eyes on Dean, apparently having a hard time to center himself and get his thoughts straight, but attempting anyway.

“I recall you and The Colonel leaving the bunker,” he says after a while of tense silence. “And I recall … normal things.”

“Normal things?”

“Sam going for his morning runs,” Cas explains. “Talking with Eileen on his laptop. Trying and mostly failing to make some decent meals and ending up getting takeaway from town every single time.”

Dean huffs at that. Sounds about right.

“And I …” Cas creases his forehead. “I was … ‘resting’. Like you told me to, Dean.”

Dean nods grimly. He recalls vividly how he told the angel at least five hundred times before setting out for Charlie’s to lay low and keep it quiet.

“I was reading, mostly,” Cas adds, though still a bit hesitant, like he’s not really sure. “And chilling with Netflix.”

Dean can’t help a smile. That’s close enough, at least.

“And I tried helping Sam cooking once, too,” he remembers. “It didn’t go well.”

Dean surely isn’t surprised by that.

“And did you notice anything weird?” he wonders. “In the bunker?”

Cas looks at him intensely, his expression bewildered. “What do you mean?”

Dean takes a deep breath. “Charlie and I watched a recording from inside the bunker,” he explains patiently. “And there was heavy snowfall all around. It looked … well, it looked like  _ something  _ was interfering with the devices.”

Cas seems truly baffled by that statement and for several moment he falls silent again, obviously digging deep into his memory to find some validation of that claim. Meanwhile, Dean can’t help shooting a look at Charlie who has been watching their interaction worriedly the entire time, seemingly more than once on the verge of wrapping the angel into her arms to never let go.

“I … I …” Cas’ gaze flickers back and forth, apparently unable to focus. “I think …”

Dean increases the pressure of his fingers on Cas’ neck a little bit, making the angel aware of the contact again. Touch at least appears to have some kind of effect on him, so Dean is more than keen to use any tool necessary to keep Cas in the here and now.

Not to mention that it isn’t really a sacrifice to touch Cas in the first place.

“The last thing I remember,” Cas says at last, his words obviously carefully chosen as he slowly puts the pieces in his brain together, “the last thing … I was with Sam in his room. We were watching a Disney movie. The one with Rapunzel.” He nods like he’s congratulating himself for recalling that, but then he grimaces fairly hard all of a sudden. “And he made me promise not to tell you, Dean. I’m sorry.”

He looks so stricken, as though he’s betraying Sam’s whole existence while accidentally revealing to his older brother that he likes to watch some Disney movies in his free time.

“It’s alright, Cas, Sam won’t hold it against you,” Dean says. “He’ll just have to live with all the teasing.”

Because they  _ will  _ find him, alive and well.

There’s no alternative.

“You don’t have much reason to taunt him anyway,” Cas pipes in, now a weak smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “As I recall you like to watch romantic comedies when he’s not around.”

Dean merely grumbles at that while Charlie snickers in the background, not at all caring to at least hide her big grin behind her hands or something.

Dean rolls his eyes and decides to ignore his shitty friends for the time being. “Okay, the Disney movie. What happened after that?”

The small spark in Cas’ eyes vanishes instantly and Dean almost feels bad for bringing it up again. He would love to spare the angel any of this and just take him home with him, safe and warm and far away from any danger imaginable.

But unfortunately life has never been fair, especially not for the Winchesters.

“We were watching the movie,” Cas repeats, his whole focus fixed on that single memory now, so it seems. “And suddenly … there was a voice.”

Dean perks up right away. “A voice? Inside the bunker?”

Cas nods and shakes his head almost at the same time, apparently not sure what to even think of that. “I … I don’t know. I think so?”

Dean leans closer, their breaths intermingling now and sending a weird shiver down the hunter’s spine that’s difficult to ignore. “Do you remember what that voice said?”

Cas blinks. “I believe … I believe it was screaming.”

“Screaming?”

Dean exchanges a look with Charlie who appears increasingly concerned listening to Cas’ retelling of the events. She bites her bottom lip while glancing at her phone, probably wondering whether her special skills might find a way to shed some light on the entire thing.

“It was screaming,  _ so loud _ ,” Cas says again, an edge to his voice now. “ _ So loud _ .”

He pulls a face, as if he’s in pain, as if he’s not only remembering but actually experiencing the whole thing once more, and before Dean can do anything about it Cas all of a sudden slumps forward and buries his face into the hunter’s chest.

“So loud …” he whispers. “So loud … so loud …”

Out of instinct Dean instantly wraps his arms around Cas’ torso, his mind yelling  _ Protect  _ so harshly he almost finds himself flinching. For a moment he even considers to just drag Cas out of here, to safety, and smash every cop in their path into unconsciousness along the way.

It can’t be  _ that  _ hard, right?

Dean faced far worse odds in the past. At least the Lafayette Police Department doesn’t hold a candle against the armies of Hell.

“And Sam …” Cas breathes into Dean’s shirt, his whole body starting to tremble. “Sam …”

Dean feels himself getting even more tense at the mention of his brother. If Cas is so clearly affected by the events he isn’t so sure anymore if he wants to know what really happened with his brother.

“Sam …” Cas continues whispering nonetheless, “he … he was …”

Dean’s heart squeezes painfully. “What happened with Sam? Do you remember?”

For a long while Cas says nothing, only stays in Dean’s embrace and obviously tries to get back control over his body, but eventually he pulls away and fixes his gaze on Dean. His eyes seem dull and glassy, a clear contrast to the  _ life  _ normally shining inside of them.

“Sam …” His voice is even less than a whisper now. “He is … Eileen … and the penguins.”

Dean frowns in confusion, wondering for a second whether he perhaps misheard the angel. “What are you saying? Sam … is he with Eileen?”

He shoots a glance at Charlie whose eyes turn wide as she immediately starts typing on her phone again, probably sending Eileen yet another, fairly desperate message, hoping against all odds that she would finally answer.

“Was Eileen with you at the bunker?” Dean urges. “Did she come back from her friend’s after I went to Charlie?”

Cas shakes his head and then he suddenly nods and then he shakes it again. He has obviously no freaking idea what his body is even doing.

“Eileen …” he breathes. “And the penguins …”

His eyelids start to droop and he sags forward, back into Dean’s chest. He mumbles incoherent words into the hunter’s shirt while his limbs are beginning to get lax.

“Cas?” Dean drags the angel closer and almost drops a gentle kiss on his temple. “C’mon, buddy, try to focus! Only on my voice and nothing else.”

“Your voice,” Cas mutters faintly. “Your heartbeat, your breathing …” He suddenly digs his nose so deep into the hunter’s shirt that some of the buttons nearly pop open. “Your scent … you smell really good, Dean. Always have.”

Dean finds himself blushing instantly and sincerely hopes Cas’ voice wasn’t loud enough for Charlie to overhear. “Cas …”

“I’m  _ trying _ , Dean,” Cas whispers, his grip getting tighter. “I’m trying to  _ concentrate _ , but it’s so … so …” He inhales deeply. “It  _ hurts _ . My head, so much …”

He repeats it, over and over, groaning in pain like his head is being ripped apart, and Dean feels so helpless all of a sudden he has no idea what to do. He tries to comfort the angel with touch and whispers soothing reassurances into his ear, but Cas doesn’t even seem to hear him anymore. He only mumbles to himself, obviously stringing random words together which don’t appear to make a lot of sense.

And then he goes quieter and quieter and as Dean looks down Cas’ eyes are already closed, his whole body shutting down from all the exhaustion.

“Shit,” Dean hisses before throwing a glance at Charlie to beg her for help. Thankfully he doesn’t have to say anything as she appears right next to him only a second later and together they hoist the angel to the cot at the wall. It’s far from graceful, but it does the job, and as soon as Cas is in a horizontal position Dean covers him with all the blankets he can reach. There are quite a lot of them (probably thanks to Victor) and Dean makes extra sure not to waste a single one.

“He’s in really bad shape, huh?” Charlie eventually raises her voice, sounding as tired as Dean feels.

The hunter takes a deep breath and finds no strength inside of him to reply.

What is there even left to say?

He watches Cas, his face now thankfully relaxed, and Dean’s chest clenches so freaking painfully that for a moment he seriously wonders whether he’s having a heart attack right now.

“We need to get him out of here,” Dean says with urgency. “We just can’t leave him behind like this.”

“Dean …” Charlie grasps his shoulder and squeezes it gently. “We  _ will _ .”

Dean inhales deeply, his ribcage suddenly feeling way too tight. “Just  _ look  _ at him!”

The pale face, the shallow breathing, the bags underneath his eyes. The last time Cas looked that shitty he was sprawled on a dirty couch in some barn, writhing in pain, while thick, black goo poured from his mouth.

Dean seriously doesn’t want any kind of repeat performance.

“We should get him a doctor,” Charlie suggests.

Dean merely scoffs. “A doctor can do jackshit for him.”

“You don’t know that,” Charlie objects. “At least they might be able to ease some pain and make him sleep peacefully for a while. That wouldn’t do him any harm, would it?”

Dean grimaces. Of course she has a point.

And it would at least be better than leaving Cas all by himself again.

“We get Cas a doctor and then Victor will watch out for him until we have a proper plan to bust your angel out of here,” Charlie says. “I’m sure after the surprise visit of Mr. Novak’s big-shot ‘lawyers’ and Victor glaring at them the whole time, the cops are super spooked and will make extra sure that Cas is well taken care of. I’m pretty certain I could even get him a gaming console and some nice lobster meal at this point.”

Dean manages a smile at that. It’s weak and very fleeting, but he hopes it conveys his gratitude anyway.

“It will be alright,” Charlie assures. “You’ll see.”

Dean cards his fingers through Cas’ hair and tries not to think about the possibility that she might be wrong.

 

\-----

 

As soon as they are back in their motel room, Dean starts to walk up and down restlessly, like a tiger in a way too small cage. His whole body is on fire and the thought of being not really closer to any answers than before is seriously driving him mad.

Eventually leaving Cas had been one of the hardest things Dean ever had to do, but after Victor burst into the room only ten minutes later and announced that the chief was on the way to the station (obviously his men informed him about the attorney’s visit) they couldn’t stay for much longer. Granted, that Simpson guy might’ve ignored Dean just as much as the rest of his officers, however, the hunter simply couldn’t risk ending up in the prison cell right next to Cas and compromising both Victor and Charlie in the process.

Dean honestly didn’t want to jeopardize the fate of his family for that.

Cas, meanwhile, didn’t wake up anymore and though Dean felt bad for not even saying properly goodbye and reassuring him once more than he would get him out of there  _ soon _ , at the same time he was glad Cas found some rest. He looked like he really needed it and Dean just couldn’t bring himself to startle the angel out of his sleep.

It didn’t matter anyway. Soon enough the angel would be at his side again.

Dean just  _ had  _ to believe that.

For now, at least, Cas wasn’t in the worst hands. Charlie slipped into her role of badass attorney once more and showed them all an Oscar worthy performance as she put the fear of God into the policemen at the station. She demanded medical attention for Cas and a change of clothes and books and entertainment and whatever else she could think of while threatening to sue the whole building to the ground until nothing would be left of it.

Dean stayed in the background, impressed and proud, as Victor next to him apparently considered to record the entire thing for future generations.

However, they instantly hurried off when they overheard two officers talking about Simpson coming in soon. Although, not without Victor telling the present officers in his deepest baritone that he would be back quickly and that they should make sure to meet all of the “lawyer’s” demands as good as possible,  _ or else _ .

On their way back to the motel they tried calling Eileen several times again, but like before to no avail, and Dean isn’t really sure what to think anymore. Cas at least sounded pretty sure that Sam is with Eileen and now they’re both MIA, so that’s clearly not a good sign. It seems likely that she returned to the bunker while Dean was at Charlie’s place and then … well, then the things happened that let Cas end up in a cell in fucking Colorado, with neither Sam or Eileen anywhere to be seen.

This is all  _ way  _ too much.

“I really don’t know what’s happening,” Dean groans, running his finger through his hair and not giving a damn he’s turning it into an utter mess. “What  _ the fuck _ is going on?”

“We should stay rational,” Victor urges as he closes the door behind them, his expression grim. “What are the facts we have for now?”

Dean takes a deep breath and tries to clear his mind. It’s not exactly easy with those very powerful emotions attempting to rip his head and the rest of his body apart, but Victor has a point here. At the end of the day this is a fucking  _ case  _ \- and they need some distance to evaluate every single detail.

“Sam and Cas stayed back at the bunker,” Dean begins. “According to Cas everything was quite normal at first. But then one day he hears that voice screaming, inside the bunker apparently.” He chews on his lower lip. “This might indicate something supernatural going on, right there at home. Next to our security cameras totally failing.”

Dean grimaces at the picture. The bunker is considered to be a safe place,  _ their  _ safe place, and to think about something invading it just like that makes him nauseous. 

“So one moment he was hanging out with Sam - and perhaps with Eileen as well? - and then suddenly that voice appears,” Victor summarizes. “And then - after an unknown period of time later - he pops up in Lafayette, with his coat drenched in Sam’s blood. So what did happen in the meantime? How did he even end up in his trench coat?”

Dean finds himself scoffing. “He’s a weirdo, Vic,” he says, clear fondness in his voice he’s way too tired to suppress. “He was probably already wearing suit and coat as they started their movie night.”

Though Dean likes to see Cas in his holy tax accountant outfit - because it’s just  _ Cas  _ -, back at the bunker he began to nag the angel to change clothes more often than not. Cas doesn’t see any need for it, obviously, but for Dean it kinda felt a bit like seeing the angel always on the go, ready to vanish at the next second. Like someone not bothering to take off their jacket when they come to visit you because they know right away they won’t stay for long.

So Dean started to get Cas into more normal clothes when he hung around the bunker. Jeans, sweatpants, hoodies. Dean has way too many clothes in his closet anyway - buying in bulks since they can get destroyed at a hunt at anytime and he likes to have some spare available without much hussle -, so it wasn’t much of a hardship to lend him some.

It made Dean feel a little bit more at ease to see Cas relaxing in some comfy pants on the couch than his usual slacks and sensible shoes.

(Not to mention that the sight of Cas in his clothes did make Dean’s stomach flutter in a very exciting way every single time - a fact he doesn’t really like to think about too much, but which just can’t be denied either way.)

Sam, however, didn’t seem to share the same sentiment, apparently not giving a damn what the angel was wearing in his freetime, as long as it were  _ clothes _ , still traumatized by the one time he encountered Cas walking down the hallway naked because before taking a shower the angel realized he had forgotten something in his room and seriously didn’t see any need for modesty as he stepped out of the bathroom to retrieve it.

(Dean had been in the garage working at Baby at the time, completely missing the tumult, and till this day he’s not exactly sure whether he should be relieved or disappointed about that.)

So yeah, Sam probably wouldn’t have said a word against Cas wearing his suit and trench coat while watching Disney movies.

“Then what about Eileen?” Victor wonders. “Was she with them? Is she missing too? What do we know about her?”

Dean chews his bottom lip. “Last thing I heard she was still with her friend, somewhere up north,” he says. “Sammy had been moping around the bunker for weeks. So I assumed she’d still be there.”

But had he been wrong?

“But now we can’t reach her on her phone,” Charlie summarizes, her forehead wrinkled. “And Cas is placing her with Sam. And some penguins.”

Dean scoffs. “That’s just an association or something,” he states. “In Cas’ head that whole thing totally makes sense. Eileen was probably wearing some shirt with penguins or whatever and that image got stuck in his mind for some reason. It doesn’t mean that  _ actual  _ penguins were walking around in the bunker.”

At least he really hopes so.

“Is there any possibility to reach Eileen’s friend?” Victor asks. “The one she had been staying with for the last few weeks? Just to verify the story.”

Dean feels an ugly headache coming his way as he closes his eyes for a second. 

“I remember Sam writing down that friend’s address and landline number,” he says. “The cell reception up there isn’t the greatest apparently, so Sam just wanted a way to communicate efficiently if something might’ve happened. I don’t know where he put that note, though. Probably in his room somewhere?”

“Maybe Jody or your mother could look for it?” Victor proposes. “They’re at the bunker at the moment, right?”

Dean’s expression hardens at the mere thought. “Yeah, but they’re keeping their distance,” he points out, his voice allowing no objection. “As long as we don’t know what’s inside, I don’t want them anywhere near.  _ Especially  _ since we don’t really know where that note even is to begin with and they could end up looking for ages. It’s too risky.”

He knows that both Jody as well as Mary would take that chance, without any doubt, but Dean honestly can’t bear the idea of losing anyone else.

“Do you at least remember the friend’s name then?” Victor wonders, obviously knowing fairly well that it’d be pointless to argue with Dean and deciding to not even start in the first place. “Or the town where they live? I could use my resources and track them down.”

Dean instantly pulls a face. “I recall her name starting with an ‘S’. Stella or Sandy or something. And that it’s a little town close to the Canadian border. That’s about it.”

Sam sulked about it at least often enough and Dean never forgot to nod his head in sympathy, but he never really made the effort to remember any specific details.

Why should he have?

In a perfect world that wouldn’t have mattered for him anyway.

“So what about Roger Dylan then?” Victor raises his voice again, jolting Dean out of his thoughts. “The man your angel killed in broad daylight.”

Right.

Dean almost forgot about that. Which is kind of ironic considering  _ that’s  _ the very reason Cas is sitting in that depressing prison cell in the first place.

“There’s not much about him in the system,” Victor explains. “He’s forty-years old, divorced, no kids. Works as a salesman in Fort Smith, Arkansas, and his record is squeaky clean. No arrests, no warnings, not even a freaking parking ticket. Nothing special about him.” Victor shrugs his shoulders. “Apart from the fact that he went missing about four weeks ago. According to one of his colleagues he just suddenly walked out of his office and never came back. Nobody had seen him - until now.”

Dean rubs his temples and shuts his eyes for a minute.  _ God _ , all of this doesn’t make a lot of sense.

“The question is: Is that Dylan guy a victim, a perp, or just a vessel for something even more awful?” Victor wonders.

Dean inhales deeply. That’s indeed the question.

Usually he’d say that Cas would  _ never  _ kill an innocent human, not in a million years, but seeing him in that cell, so clearly out of it - Dean seriously can’t be totally sure, even though it breaks his heart.

“Well,” Charlie suddenly pipes in, “I’d guess it’s the last one. With the vessel and awful and all that stuff.”

She sounds pretty certain all of a sudden. Dean shoots her a puzzled look and realizes she’s intently reading something on her phone.

“What makes you so sure?” he asks.

“Donna just sent me a message,” she informs him, pointing at the little screen in front of her. “It’s a police report from Sterling, Colorado.”

Dean frowns in confusion. “What the fuck has Sterling to do with this?”

His geography skills aren’t the best, but he’s pretty sure that town is at least several hours away from Lafayette. And even much farther from the bunker.

“Well, Donna went through the database of the whole frakking country, it seems,” Charlie explains, sounding fairly impressed. “Looking for keywords. ‘Trench coat’, ‘long shiny hair’, things like that. Just to get a trace of the guys. And apparently she found something in Sterling.” She narrows her eyes as she reads the text in front of her intently. “Something  _ very  _ interesting.”

Dean’s whole body tenses up. “What is it?”

“A woman named Haley Timms filed a report against unknown for assault on Wednesday,” Charlie reads aloud. “After her yoga class that evening she suddenly was attacked by a man and dragged into an alley close by the studio. The description of the perp … well, it matches the description the Lafayette PD put in their file about that Roger Dylan.”

For a moment Dean has trouble collecting his thoughts and jointing this new information into a clear picture. “Wait, you’re saying - the guy Cas killed attacked that woman in Sterling before?”

Charlie nods, her expression grim. “The description fits, one to one,” she states. “And according to Haley Timms the eyes of her attacker were so dark ‘they appeared to be black’.”

Dean straightens his back immediately and presses his lips into a thin line. “ _ Demon _ .”

It makes sense, of course. That Roger Dylan suddenly disappearing and eventually ending up dead by an angel’s blade. Cas obviously had a very good reason for killing that man after all.

It’s almost a relief, to be honest. The thought of Cas maybe being so out of himself and murdering an innocent man in the process - Dean’s quite sure Cas would’ve had a very hard time living with himself after that. There’s already way more than enough weight on his shoulders, the guilt of a thousand lifetimes, so it seems, and he seriously doesn’t need more of it.

“And get this,” Charlie continues, “according to Haley the man - well, the demon - had a knife and threatened to do unpretty things to her … until suddenly two men appeared right next to them, seemingly out of thin air. Haley didn’t see that much, but she recognized the first man wearing suit and trench coat and the other one having long hair. That’s why Donna’s radar picked this up in the first place.”

Dean exchanges a glance with Victor who looks equal parts intrigued and completely bewildered.

Dean sure as hell shares that feeling.

What the hell?

“The demon naturally got distracted by the new arrivals and Haley managed to escape,” Charlie says. “That’s where the report ends, unfortunately. Not sure what happened after that.”

Dean blinks a few times.

So … does that mean Cas and Sam went on a demon hunt?

Found the son of a bitch and at least Cas followed him to Lafayette to finish him off?

It actually doesn’t sound totally far-fetched, but there are still so many unanswered questions. How did they learn about the demon’s existence? Why didn’t they call Dean and give him at least a heads-up? Why would they both decide to do this in the first place after promising Dean to stay in the bunker?

Sam certainly agreed with Dean to let Cas have his rest after the shit with Ramiel and the almost dying mess, so Dean can’t really imagine his brother suddenly dragging the angel across state borders to go an a fucking hunt. At least not without a  _ very  _ good reason.

And what about the malfunctioning cameras in the bunker? And the voice Cas heard screaming inside the walls?

Where is that coming into play?

“You said the victim filed the report on Wednesday, right?” Victor suddenly chimes in. “When exactly was she attacked that day?”

Charlie takes a moment to look for that specific information and eventually her eyebrows climb up toward her hairline. “Well,” she says, clearly a bit hesitant, “it seems her yoga class ended at 18:30 PM. She was attacked shortly after that.”

Victor tilts his head, the gears in his head obviously working overtime as his gaze flickers back and forth between them.

“Castiel killed the demon and was arrested by the Lafayette PD at 18:46 PM,” he reminds them. “About a quarter of an hour later.”

Ah  _ dammit  _ all to hell!

Why do they  _ never  _ get a break?

_ Why _ ?

“How did they end up in Lafayette so fast?” Victor asks. “That’s not possible.”

“Not  _ humanly  _ possible, yes,” Charlie agrees. “But in the world of the supernatural - there’s a lot of messed-up stuff.”

Dean couldn’t have phrased it better.

He can think of several ways how Cas and that demon could’ve found themselves in Lafayette in that short amount of time and he doesn’t like a single one of them.

Once again Dean can’t help groaning, “What  _ the fuck _ is going on?”

This time, however, he seriously gets an answer to at least a part of his question.

Because suddenly The Colonel, who had been lying quietly on his spot the whole time, leaps to his feet and starts to bark loudly, his entire body so strained probably every single muscle is called to action right now. His gaze, though, isn’t directed at the door but at the ceiling instead.

Dean frowns in confusion at that. He’s pretty sure this is just an one-floor motel and there’s honestly nothing above them beside air. For a moment he considers that maybe simply a few birds are having a stupid fight on the roof on top of them and he’s already on the verge of scolding The Colonel for startling them for something so dumb … and then he notices  _ it _ .

A sound he hasn’t heard in a very long time.

The flapping of wings.

_ Angel  _ wings.

And just a second later, like so often before and simultaneously like never at all, Cas suddenly appears right there in the middle of the room, seemingly out of nowhere.

Stunned silence is what follows.

From every side.

Even from the freaking dog.

“I think I know what happened,” Cas abruptly announces, his voice unsteady as it fills the quiet room. “It seems I have been flying.”

His eyes are wide, like he can’t believe it himself. Like he has no idea whether he’s dreaming or not.

And then he collapses right there on the spot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, sorry about the cliffhanger ^^'
> 
> But I hope this will shed at least some light on what's going on and I can promise you more answer soon!  
> Until next time then!


	9. Wings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys!!
> 
> I can’t believe we’re seriously here considering that damned heatwave is effectively melting my brain and the last 5% of this chapter took longer than the whole rest >.< And today is basically the hottest day here since the dawn of time itself, so I honestly didn’t expect to accomplish ANYTHING today!
> 
> But it happened!
> 
> I can’t promise you that at least the last 5% are any good, though (because, yeah, mushy brain and all), so if you find any mistakes or raging plot holes you’re free to adopt them, take care of them and send them to school one day so they’ll have the chance of a better life ;D
> 
> And without further ado, have fun ^^
> 
> -

Dean is frozen to ice and feels absolutely useless as he can do nothing else but watch Castiel going down in slow motion.

The voice in his head screams  _ NOOOOO _ so loudly it nearly bursts his skull and every single muscle in his body just wants to rush over there and catch his angel before he’d be able to connect with the floor, but at the same time nothing works.

It feels like a nightmare where you’re simply unable to move and lose your mind in the process.

Thankfully Victor is able to do what Dean is not.

He’s at Cas’ side in record speed - it even makes Dean question some supernatural involvement for a brief second - and wraps his arms around the unconscious man’s torso before he keels over completely. Cas sags into Victor’s embrace, apparently not a single body function working right now, and the agent groans at the sudden onslaught of weight. His legs start to tremble, for a moment obviously on the verge of losing his balance as well, but nonetheless he grits his teeth and holds on tight.

“Dean!” he moans, his gaze flickering to the bed beside him.

Victor’s urgent tone finally jerks Dean out of his reverie and he forces himself into action. He hurries over and grabs Cas’ right side, stabilizing the angel well enough that both men are capable of maneuvering him onto the bed. It’s more like inelegant dragging and cursing, it gets the job done, tough.

They place Cas on the mattress - with Dean making extra sure that he doesn’t hit the headboard somehow - and take a deep breath.

_ Fuck _ .

“What. The. Hell?” Charlie is the first to pick up her voice, staring at the passed out angel with wide eyes. “What the fuck just happened?”

Good question.

_ Very  _ good question.

While all three humans continue to gape at Cas and try desperately to remember how to even function, The Colonel doesn’t appear to have any hangups whatsoever. He makes a low whining noise as he shamelessly crawls onto the bed next to Cas and cuddles up to him in a both protective and reassuring manner.

The Colonel fell in love with the angel the very first time he saw him and the feeling was returned immediately. They’re both inseparable as soon as they’re in the same room and till this day Dean hasn’t really figured out whether he’s annoyed or endeared by it.

Right now, however, the sight of the dog being so damned determined to be at the angel’s side at all costs, even facing Dean’s potential anger for him having the audacity to jump onto the bed in the process, warms his heart.

“I don’t understand …” Victor’s confused voice jerks him out of his thoughts. “I thought you told me the angels can’t fly anymore.”

“Well, they can’t,” Dean responds gruffly, realizing how stupid he sounds considering what just happened, but can’t help himself saying it nonetheless.

“They  _ obviously  _ can!” Victor points out. “At least yours.”

Dean groans and rubs his temples, fiercely fighting back the nasty headache that’s hanging over his head like a black cloud since this whole fucking mess started.

“I just …” He shuts his eyes for a moment. “I have no freaking clue, man. He shouldn’t … this shouldn’t be …”

_ God _ , why did he ever believe his life might get easier someday?

“The angels’ wings burned during the fall a few years back,” Dean explains. “And I … I was under the assumption the damage is permanent.”

He asked Cas about it, only once. Wondering whether it might be possible to heal them eventually. And Cas looked so devastated at these words, as if it would’ve been kinder for Dean to just drive a knife through his chest, that the hunter never dared to bring up the topic ever again.

“You think his wings healed themselves?” Charlie wonders, still looking shaken, but a hint of curiosity beginning to show on her features. “That it maybe just took some time?”

Dean presses his lips into a thin line. It might be possible, all things considered. Though Cas himself obviously hadn’t been optimistic about his prospects, it’s not entirely irrational to assume that he’d been wrong. After all, the whole thing with the fall and burned wings was a whole new experience for the angels altogether. They probably didn’t really know themselves which miracles might be possible and which not.

But still …

Dean can’t imagine this would be something that happened overnight. And if Cas would’ve sensed some improvement, he surely would’ve told the brothers about it.

Right? 

“I don’t know,” Victor chimes in. “I’m seriously not an expert on angels, so please interrupt me if I’m wrong, but Castiel right now seemed  _ ridiculously  _ surprised about this. He had no fucking idea he was even flying in the first place. You can’t tell me that’s how things are supposed to be, right?”

He sure has a point here.

Dean rubs his temples even harder, not caring that he’s irritating his skin a great deal along the way.

“You considered there might be something wrong with his powers?” Victor asks. “His mojo or however you wanna name it? He’s been causing  _ earthquakes  _ as a result of a powerful emotional reaction. He’s been flying across the country without even realizing he’s doing it. Hell, Sam could be anywhere at this point.”

Shit,  _ Sam _ .

If Cas seriously started to zap in and out of places again like before, Sam could be in fucking Jerusalem or wherever.

_ Fuck _ .

Dean feels so helpless all of a sudden. So freaking useless.

“We should stretch our search pattern,” Charlie says, her voice all business now. “Beyond the borders even. Those witch twins of yours should use all the magic and resources they’ve got.” She takes a deep breath. “And I don’t like to say it, but what about Crowley and his mother? They could be useful.”

Dean grimaces at that, but unfortunately she’s right. They have the King of Hell and his powerful witch mother on their side (kind of, at least), so they should make use of them.

Everything for Sam.

Just as he’s trying to remember where he put his phone there’s suddenly a low moan coming from the bed.

“Cas!” he exclaims and instantly rushes to the angel’s side, just in the time for him to see Cas’ eyelids beginning to flutter open.

“Cas,” he whispers once more as he crouches onto his knees right next to him. The Colonel, meanwhile, whines quietly and nuzzles Cas’ neck, apparently eager to make him wake up, while Charlie hurries to the little kitchenette to grab a glass of water.

“Dean?” Cas breathes. It sounds like he’s not sure if he’s dreaming or not.

“Yeah, buddy, it’s me,” Dean is quick to reassure. He reaches out and squeezes the angel’s knee before he can talk himself out of it. “You’re safe now.”

Cas knits his brows together, as though Dean’s word make no sense at all, before he eventually attempts to let his gaze wander over his surroundings. His movements are sluggish at best and his eyelids threaten to drop again at least ten times in the process, but nevertheless he seems determined to get a clear picture of the situation.

“I’m …” he croaks in the end, his voice unsteady. “Where …?”

“In our motel room,” Dean explains. “In Lafayette’s neighboring town. Louisville.”

Cas blinks a few times. “Oh.”

He looks at Charlie and Victor, as if he’s having a difficult time identifying them, while simultaneously burying his hand in The Colonel’s fur. The dog makes a happy noise at the contact, apparently delighted to see Cas awake, and presses their bodies even closer together. Dean is just on the verge of scolding him and reminding him not to smother the poor guy too hard, but then he notices how Cas significantly relaxes under the attention and eventually keeps his mouth shut.

“I flew,” Cas announces after a while, his tone still absolutely incredulous.

Dean huffs a breathy laugh. “Yeah, we noticed.”

“I  _ flew _ ,” he repeats again.

His mind is obviously blown. His fingers dig even deeper into The Colonel’s fur, as though he needs the touch to remind himself that this is seriously reality right now.

“Do you know what happened?” Dean wonders. “How … how is this possible?”

Cas shakes his head. “I don’t know. This shouldn’t be …”

He seems so freaking overwhelmed he probably doesn’t even know whether he should be happy or terrified about the whole thing.

“I recall … sitting in that depressing cell,” Cas says tentatively. “After you left … I wanted to be with you, so badly … and then I felt your longing …”

Dean can’t help a slight blush and just hopes that neither Charlie nor Victor catch up on it. “My longing.”

“You were thinking about me,” Cas points out as though that explains everything.

And yeah, sure, Dean had been thinking about Cas. Of course. And he had been fucking  _ yearning  _ to know the angel by his side instead of that sad prison cell.

And Cas felt all of that?

“I longed to be with you, too,” Cas adds. “That feeling … it was so overwhelming. I wanted to reach out … and suddenly I was here.”

Dean blinks.

Wow.

“So you just wished to be with me - with  _ us _ ,” he corrects himself hastily, “and then your wings did the rest?”

Cas tilts his head on the pillow. “So it seems, yes.”

He carefully tries to get the upper part of his body into a vertical position, but Dean quickly presses a soft hand onto his chest and urges him to stay where he is. 

“You need to rest, buddy,” Dean says, trying to make his voice as gentle as possible. “You look like hell.”

Cas creases his forehead at Dean’s phrasing. “Not the best look for an angel.”

Dean scoffs, affection blooming inside of him. “Yeah, I’d say so.”

The urge to follow The Colonel’s example, just crawling onto the bed right next to the angel and snuggling up to him, making sure he’s safe and protected, is so fucking strong all of a sudden Dean has to shut his eyes for a minute there and calm himself down. His heart squeezes painfully as his entire body practically demands to get  _ closer _ .

What he can do, however, is taking the glass of water from Charlie’s hands and force the liquid down Cas’ throat while he totally ignores the dude’s  _ “I’m an angel, I don’t require nourishment” _ glare in the process. It’s a messy affair, with Cas not being allowed to properly sit up straight, but Dean feels good about doing at least something, even a tiny bit. And though Cas clearly deems this highly unnecessary he indulges the hunter anyway, neither having the energy nor the heart to fight Dean on this.

“Your wings,” Charlie’s voice suddenly pipes up after Dean got enough water into the angel and withdraws the glass with a satisfied nod. “Are they …?”

She doesn’t seem sure how to phrase it as she tiptoes for information.

Cas is silent for a long while, partly contemplating and partly trying not to lose consciousness yet again, and in the end he simply shakes his head.

“I can  _ feel  _ them,” he breathes, in awe. “They’re … they’re strong. Healed.”

If he would’ve enough strength right now he surely would’ve popped them out, here in this shady motel room in some little town in Colorado.

An angel’s wings, in full glory. For the first time in years.

“They’re fine?” The emotions in Dean’s voice are so palpable he can’t suppress a shiver. “How …? I mean, did you heal them yourself?”

Cas grimaces. “I don’t know what happened,” he confesses, his tone shaky. “I didn’t do it. It should be  _ impossible _ . I gave up on it a long time ago.”

Dean hates to hear the resignation. The pain. 

And he curses Metatron even more for making the angels fall and lose their wings in the first place. If that fucker wasn’t dead already, Dean sure would kill him again without any hesitation. In the most excruciating way imaginable. 

“So you have been flying around for days now?” Dean asks instead. Because despite his desire to comfort the angel and see him take some obviously needed rest, there are still so many questions unanswered.

Guilt flickers over Cas’ features. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers. “I didn’t know what was happening. And it never even crossed my mind to check on my wings.” He lowers his gaze. “Since they burned … I tended to ignore them. It hurt too much otherwise.”

Yeah, Metatron  _ definitely  _ deserves to be killed twice.

At the very least.

“But I remember now,” Cas reveals. “Fragments, at least.”

Dean perks up. “You remember? What happened with Sam?”

He feels new energy flowing through his body at those words.  _ Hope _ .

Cas, meanwhile, heaves a deep breath before pressing his lips together. “We were watching a movie at the bunker. The one with Rapunzel. Just Sam and me, no one else.”

Dean leans closer. “So Eileen wasn’t with you?”

Cas shakes his head. “No, she was …” He blinks a few times, apparently trying to recollect the event in all its magnitude. “Well, I think she was still with her hunter friend. She hadn’t come back to Lebanon yet.”

Dean quickly glances at Charlie and Victor who have been starting to lean in, clearly intrigued and more than ready not to miss a single word.

“And then I heard the voice,” Cas says, his voice firm, yet quiet.

Dean’s grip around the angel’s knee tightens, his desire to offer comfort in any way possible only growing and growing by the second. “The one inside the bunker?”

Cas stares at him for a moment, like he has no idea what the hunter is even talking about, and Dean is just about to elaborate when the angel eventually answers with a simple, “No.”

Dean raises his eyebrows in surprise. “No?”

Cas huffs as though Dean is an adorable idiot. “I heard a voice while sitting inside the bunker, yes,” he agrees. “But the voice came from the outside.”

Dean can’t help feeling a little bit stunned.

Thankfully both Charlie and Victor appear to be the same.

“Outside?” Dean wonders, after a short while of silence. “Like … outside the front door … or outside, farther away?”

Cas shoots him a tired half-smile. “Sometimes you act like you’re completely forgetting that I’m a celestial being,” he says with a chuckle. “I’m actually not even sure whether to be offended or charmed by it.”

Frankly, Dean doesn’t really know either.

Though when in doubt he’d always go with the ‘charmed’ option.

“I could listen to a conversation in Paris right now, if I wanted to,” Cas says, mostly for Charlie’s and Victor’s sake, but also probably as a reminder for Dean, too. “Voices. Hundreds, thousands, millions, all talking at once. We have the ability to tune them out or only focus on something or someone specific, otherwise even we would go insane in the end. It’s too much, even for an ethereal mind.”

He pauses for a moment, as he suddenly shoots a guilty look at Dean. “But for a while now I have some difficulties to control it.”

Dean tenses up instantly at this very new information. “Wait, what?” he exclaims, his eyes going wide. “For a while? What does that mean?  _ Days _ ?”

Cas grimaces. “Weeks, to be more precise.”

Dean gasps. “ _ Weeks _ ?” 

Oh fuck it all to hell!

“Why the fuck didn’t you say something?” Dean growls, the urge to clasp the angel tightly and give him a good shake to knock some sense into him is only squashed by the annoying reality of Cas being way too weak to endure such treatment. Dean, however, swears to himself to make up for that as soon as the angel will be back on his feet again.

“Dean …”

“Don’t  _ Dean  _ me here!” the hunter protests. “You know you can always come to me when shit like this goes down, right? Don’t leave us in the dark, man.”

“I thought it was merely temporary,” Cas tries to defend himself, his tone shaky at best. “It started … well, after Ramiel and the Lance of Michael … I just felt shaken and exhausted and believed it would fade as soon as I’d be better.”

“But it obviously didn’t,” Dean points out.

Cas pulls a face, like he’s in actual pain, and Dean feels his anger immediately dissipate.  _ Damn _ , he can never stay mad at the angel for very long.

“It got worse,” Cas confesses quietly. “I began to have more and more trouble to control it. Shreds of conversations from the neighboring towns or even the next states … sometimes I just couldn’t hold them back.” He squeezes his eyes shut. “Sam started to catch up on it. He got worried.”

Dean listens up. “And why, the hell, didn’t  _ he  _ tell me about this either?”

“It didn’t seem to be a life or death situation,” Cas states. “And he … he didn’t want to disturb your little vacation. We both agreed that you needed it.  _ Deserved  _ it.”

Dean grinds his teeth. It never felt truly natural to him to be taken care of, to be considered like that, and he’s not really sure it ever will.

“ _ And _ you get very overprotective,” Cas adds, like an afterthought. “It’s endearing, but also quite exhausting.”

Dean scoffs, absolutely determined to have an argument about this and completely intend to win, but just before he’s able to even open his stupid mouth he remembers that there are far more pressing issues at stake right now.

“Okay, the voice,” he urges, making a vague hand gesture. “Tell us about the voice.”

Cas still seems a bit skeptical, as if he expects Dean to fight back nonetheless any second now, but still he answers dutifully, “It was a woman. And she was screaming.”

“A woman?”

Cas nods. “Yes, she was …” he trails off, apparently memories hitting him so vividly all of a sudden that he finds himself tensing up. “She was  _ so scared _ , Dean. So very scared.”

He swallows audibly, his blue eyes glazing over as the pictures overtake him.

“She was crying for help,” he whispers. “And no one heard her … only me … she was crying and begging … I  _ felt  _ it … and there was this demonic presence …” He shudders all over. “I wanted to help her so badly … protect her … and then all of a sudden … I was there.”

Dean blinks as he takes a moment to wrap his head around the story. “You flew,” he realizes.

Cas heaves a deep breath. “Not consciously,” he states. “But … yes, my desire to be with her, to  _ save  _ her - it was too overwhelming … and I guess my wings just took over. I didn’t even know what was happening.”

Dean has no idea what to say to this.

What to even  _ think _ .

This is still all way too much for him and a part of him can’t help clutching desperately on the hope of waking up in Charlie’s apartment any second now and realizing that all of this just had been a horrible nightmare.

“And Sam?” Victor prompts, bending forward to not miss a thing.

Cas shoots him a glance and for a second there it seems he’s having a hard time remembering who the FBI Agent even is. He presses The Colonel even closer, the furry body obviously giving him lots of comfort, as his other hand finds Dean’s and links their fingers before the hunter even knows what’s happening.

“Sam … he was with me,” the angel whispers, an odd sheen glazing over his eyes. “I … I don’t know how … I think he must have touched me when - when it happened, when my wings …  _ my wings _ …” He takes an unsteady breath. “I have no idea where we even  _ were  _ … there was just this dark alley and the woman and that demon attacking her …”

“Sterling,” Victor pipes in, his expression grim. “You popped up in Sterling, Colorado. A woman named Haley Timms got attacked by a black-eyed man after her yoga class. She escaped when suddenly two men - one in a trench coat and the other one with long hair - appeared out of nowhere.” 

He reaches out, probably wondering whether he should offer a reassuring shoulder pat or something, but eventually letting his hand awkwardly hover in the air, most likely recalling that he’s dealing with an actual angel of the Lord of all things and having no clue if it would be his place to touch him in any way.

In the meantime, Dean feels his chest constricting. It makes sense now. The weird police report that Haley woman left with the authorities. How Cas could travel between Sterling and Lafayette in such a short amount of time.

“Haley …” Cas speaks the name like he’s testing it on his tongue. “Is she …?”

“She’s alright,” Victor assures him instantly. “I’ve read the report. Some scrapes and bruises and naturally shaken up about the whole thing, but overall she’s okay. You most likely saved her life.”

No arguing about that.

Dean has no clue what that demon intended to do with her - whether he “only” planned to possess her or whether he followed some bloody thirst for murder -, but he just knows it wouldn’t have been pretty.

Cas, at least, seems highly relieved to hear Victor’s words. “That’s good.”

It sounds suspiciously like a  _ “that’s at least one good thing coming out of this mess” _ .

Dean feels sick all over again as he recalls once more what the “bad things” are.

“Sam,” he breathes, his voice close to breaking. He  _ hates  _ this. He hates it so much. “Cas, man,  _ please  _ … do you remember …?”

Cas grips his hand even tighter, his expression turning so crestfallen Dean feels his throat closing up.

“When we suddenly arrived in that alley,” the angel starts, his tone so heavy as though he’s rather do anything else than tell the story, “... we were surprised, of course. Startled. We didn’t know what happened. One second we were just watching a movie and the next …” He licks his lips. “The demon was naturally shell-shocked as well. And he … he had a knife in his hand and reacted out of pure instinct … I can’t even really blame him, it was just a reflex -”

Dean shuts his eyes for a moment.

Oh  _ God _ .

“Sam was closest to him,” Cas says as his hand begins to tremble. “The knife - it went straight into his stomach … there was so much blood -”

The blood on Cas’ trench coat.

Dean’s baby brother bleeding out right in that dark alley in Sterling, absolutely steamrolled and having no clue what was even going on.

“It happened so quickly,” Cas states. “So quickly … I had no time to react, to prevent it … and it was all my fault -”

Cas felt guilty about a lot of shit in the past before, but the expression on his face right now might’ve been the worst Dean has ever seen. It’s weighing on his shoulders, it’s basically crippling him, and it’s making the hunter ill even looking at him in this condition. 

For Cas’ sake … and for Sam’s.

“Sam.” It actually hurts to say the name now. “Is he … is he alive? What happened to him?”

Of course Dean learned to expect the worst since a very young age. In their field of work death is a constant companion, always ready to snatch you up and take you to the next life. Hell, it happened a couple of times to them already.

But nevertheless Dean will never get used to it. He knows that one day it will be  _ it _ , the one time they won’t be able to talk the higher powers out of them dying. However, it doesn’t make this any easier.

“Sam,” Cas whispers, his eyes getting dull again, “... there was so much blood …”

“Cas,  _ please _ ,” Dean urges, his thumb rubbing over Cas’ skin, hoping that the touch will help the angel from passing out again. “I need to know - I need to know if he’s alive or … or …”

“I healed him.”

Dean blinks.

Once. 

Twice.

“What?”

Cas looks at him, his gaze somewhat unfocused, but still determined. “I healed Sam.”

For a second it feels like the world stopped spinning.

Everything frozen to ice.

And then Dean takes a shaky breath and actually starts to laugh. “Oh my God!” he breathes, relief washing over him like a powerful wave. “Oh. My. God.”

In the corner of his eyes he notices both Charlie and Victor reacting in the same way as blinding smiles almost split their faces in half. They visibly deflate as though their bodies had been strained all over the whole time.

And Dean sure can relate. He feels his muscles relaxing just hearing Cas’ words, the constant tension vanishing all at once.

“I’m so sorry, Dean,” Cas mumbles. “I couldn’t …”

“Cas, buddy, it’s alright,” Dean assures him as he offers the angel a soft smile. “You  _ healed  _ him.”

“Not completely,” Cas corrects with a grimace. “His injuries were so severe … and my powers weren’t working properly and I was afraid to do more damage than good at some point …”

Dean leans closer. “But he’s out of danger, right? He is  _ alive _ ?”

At Cas’ nod Dean feels ready to throw a freaking party.

_ Fuck dammit _ !

“So where is he?” Charlie eventually asks the most pressing question.

Cas immediately pulls a face, apparently not happy to be reminded of that. “I don’t … I don’t know …” he confesses, his voice so croaky Dean wonders whether he might break out into tears the next second, “I wanted him somewhere  _ safe  _ … somewhere protected … and my powers took over again, all on their own …” He lays his palms over his face like he wants to hide himself from the world. “I sent him somewhere - but I don’t remember where.”

And then he keeps muttering, “I’m so sorry, I’m sorry,”, as if he’s committed the worst crime in the history of mankind and he doesn’t expect Dean or anyone else to ever forgive him for that, while his eyelids starts to droop again, exhaustion taking over once more.

Dean makes extra sure to squeeze his hand in a gentle manner and whisper, “It’s alright, Cas,” several times, hoping it might get through to him, while he watches the angel slowly succumbing to sleep again.

And his heart feels heavy to see Cas like this, but also full of joy to know Sam is still alive and kicking, wherever that might be, and he’s not sure he can’t take all these emotions for very long.

He just knows he will find Sam, even if Cas sent him to Russia or the fucking North Pole of all things, because they will  _ always  _ find each other.

And Cas … he’s gonna be fine again.

Dean is sure of that.

Since he can’t risk to believe anything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I hope you’re relieved that some questions are finally answered ;D
> 
> And there is more to come!! Until next chapter then :D
> 
> And if you’re living in some of the areas currently struck by the heatwave, good luck!


	10. By Your Side

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, we're finally back!!  
> *throws some confetti into the air*
> 
> This time with LOTS of Destiel ;)
> 
> Have fun ^^
> 
> -

Dean doesn’t know how long he’s already sitting at Cas’s bedside.

Ten minutes? Half an hour? Days?

Time seems to fly and crawl at the same time and Dean gave up keeping track a while ago.

It doesn’t really matter anyway. Cas obviously needs his rest, he hasn’t even moved much since he fell asleep again, and the hunter would make sure that he’d have all the time in the world to recover properly. No matter how long it would take.

It’s been a whirlwind of epiphanies as soon as Cas relayed his story. All the small and little things that didn’t make any sense before suddenly painted an absolutely clear picture.

For one, there never was any supernatural being in the bunker to begin with. Just Cas’ powers apparently malfunctioning so hard that they started to mess with whatever kind of frequence the cameras were working on. It sure conforms with all their phones suddenly having trouble in Cas’ vicinity and the little camera in Cas’ former cell also not really doing its job, as Victor remembers overhearing the Lafayette cops complaining. Naturally he didn’t think much of it at the time, but now it seems so crystal clear.

Whatever is going on with Cas, he’s broadcasting it loudly. Cameras, phones, even the TV -- they’re all not reacting very well to the angel’s proximity.

That’s why, in the end, both Victor and Charlie left the motel room to coordinate further steps. Charlie looked ready to commit murder after the wifi connection failed too many times in a row and Victor wanted to make sure to return to the police station and cover any possible tracks. He already began to awaken his acting skills (since he technically was “completely unaware” of the prisoner’s sudden disappearance, of course) and he seemed almost scarily excited to yell at those cops soon for losing their criminal.

So while Victor is off to cover their asses once more and Charlie shares the new development with the rest of the crew, Dean decided to stay at Cas’ side and not leave him out of his sight.

A stupid part of him fears the whole time Cas might vanish again, just like he did before Metatron’s scheming kicked the angels out of Heaven. Before Cas’ wings were clipped. But this time it’s even worse, with Cas having obviously no real control over the whole thing and throwing himself into dangerous situations without even meaning to. This time it was a demon with a knife, perhaps next time it will be someone with an angel blade right in their hands.

Dean doesn’t even dare to think about what might happen.

So he told himself to stay guard and watch the guy sleep and though the irony of the latter certainly isn’t lost on him he can’t really bring himself to laugh or at least muster a small smile.

Overall it’s all just way too much.

Dean’s muscles feel tense and the longer he studies Cas sleeping quietly the more he remembers how he hasn’t allowed himself even a brief second of rest ever since Victor ripped him forcefully out of his little fantasy vacation with Charlie. It’s just been a long and absolutely stressful day and Dean’s beginning to feel exhausted like he’s been awake for a whole fucking week. He can’t even recall if he ate or drank anything.

There was only worry. About Sam, about Cas, about whether there might be something horrifying supernatural in the bunker, defiling their personal safe haven.

And though some of these questions are answered, to a certain degree, Dean still feels cramped all over.

Sam is alright, but they have no idea where he is right now. And the fact that he hasn’t contacted them yet on his own doesn’t sit too well with Dean. There’s a clear reason he can’t use his phone right now and Dean doesn’t like any of the possible explanations for that.

And then, of course, Cas.

His powers going crazy. His body failing and requiring sleep. His memories being messed up.

Yeah, Dean isn’t too happy about any of this.

And he ended up disappointed too many times in the past to lie to himself properly that everything will turn out fine.

 

\-----

 

Dean has been fighting his drooping lids for a while now when he suddenly hears a grunt coming from the bed that’s definitely not coming from the quietly sleeping dog still nestled beside Cas.

The hunter startles fully awake in a heartbeat and scrambles to the angel’s side immediately.

“Cas,” he whispers, his voice carrying all the emotions he usually tries to suppress so very hard. Right now, however, he can’t care to bother, his only focus is on the angel in front of him.

Like before Cas seems to have quite a rough time orientate himself at first. He blinks several times, his gaze roaming over his surroundings in confusion and also a hint of fear. But as soon as his eyes land on Dean his features relax, like he feels safe and calm in an instant, no matter where he might be.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas croaks with a lopsided grin and this so familiar greeting makes Dean chuckle in relief. 

“Hey, buddy,” he says right back, probably beaming so brightly he’s currently blinding the poor angel to no avail. “How are you feeling?”

Cas falls silent again, looking pensive as he most likely checks his current state of being. Eventually he sighs. “I’m not sure.”

Dean reaches out, eager to take his hand again or at least touch him somehow, to ground and reassure himself, but he hesitates under Cas’ scrutiny and envies The Colonel instead who has no hang-ups whatsoever to push his wet nose into the angel’s neck and whining happily at the sight of Cas up and somewhat running.

Not that Dean feels any urge to lick the angel’s face and make incoherent noises, _fuck no_!

“You think you can sit up for a bit?” he asks, fighting back even the mere idea of a blush with all forces imaginable. “I wanna get some food into you.”

Sam uses to call it his “inner mother hen” and Dean feels it calling to him so loudly and aggressively his ears start to ring. The need to take care of the angel, to see him fed and warm, is tuning out almost anything else. Cas still looks pale and haggard and Dean wants to wrap him in at least a dozen blankets.

But Cas, as expected, merely frowns at him. “I don’t require nourishment.”

Dean rolls his eyes and can’t help a snort. “Tell that to your face, Cas,” he grunts. “You look like you could really use a sandwich and a strong cup of coffee.”

“I don’t --”

“C’mon, man, just humor me.”

“But that’s not necessary --”

“Pardon my French, Cas, but you look like shit. So get over your high horse and eat the fucking sandwich I got you. Some food won’t kill you.”

Cas doesn’t appear to agree, but he obviously doesn’t have the strength to argue with the hunter any further right now. So instead, with Dean’s help, he wrestles his torso into an upright position and sighs so deeply as though the weight of the world has been put upon his shoulders.

“I don’t have any coffee right now,” Dean immediately apologizes as he grabs the packed sandwich Charlie went out to get a while ago and shoves it in Cas’ hands, giving him no time to protest some more in any way. “We didn’t know when you’d wake up and cold coffee is a disgusting bitch. But the sandwich is fresh and everything. I made sure they put all the good rabbit food inside and that they used wholewheat bread …”

Cas’ expression gentles at those words, his gentle eyes making Dean’s skin burn. “Thank you, Dean,” he says in the softest tone possible. “This is very kind of you.”

Dean clears his throat awkwardly and hastily lowers his gaze as he feels the temperature in his cheeks rising instantly. “It’s, uh … it’s nothing, Cas. Just eat it.”

Cas looks more inclined doing so upon hearing the kind of care Dean put in that simple sandwich. And after a bite or two he actually seems to realize the wisdom of Dean’s actions as he begins to almost devour the meal in record time, like a man suddenly noticing how close he’s been to starving to death, and doesn’t even leave a single crumb behind.

“You were right, Dean,” he admits straightaway, shooting the hunter a small smile. “Forgive my stubbornness, but the food in prison didn’t have that same effect on me.”

“Yeah, prison food isn’t the greatest,” Dean agrees.

“And most of the time I only pretended to eat anyway,” Cas explains. “I didn’t want to raise any suspicions. So eating, drinking, sleeping, urinating -- I tried to appear as human as possible.”

Dean can’t help a chuckle. “You faked peeing?”

Cas only shrugs. “I used the water I didn’t have to drink anyway.”

Dean finds himself highly amused by the image of Cas standing in front of the toilet bowl, with a water bottle in hand, and attempting to calculate how much he should dump into it to create enough of that distinctive peeing noise. He’s almost sorry he missed that.

“Later I’ll get you some good coffee, Cas,” he promises. “Who knows, maybe you’ll end up having to pee for real after that.”

Cas narrows his eyes, as though wondering what the right response to this might be, and in the end he decides to fall silent for a while. He buries his hand in the dog’s fur, who is still pressed against his side, obviously not ready to put any distance between them anytime soon, and smiles gently at The Colonel.

From the beginning there has been a special bond between those two, like they’re communicating with each other with just a few looks, and it always kinda wonderous to watch.

“Where are the others?” Cas wonders eventually, his gaze still not leaving the dog for even a second. Dean almost feels like he’s intruding on an intimate moment or something.

“Victor is off to deal with things at the police station,” Dean answers nonetheless. “And Charlie is outside coordinating the search for Sam. Your … um, your mojo is currently interfering with lots of our electronic devices, so she had to get some distance between you.”

Cas doesn’t seem overly surprised by that revelation. Perhaps he already guessed such a thing or even experienced it firsthand.

“The cameras in the bunker …” he mumbles, realization obviously slowly creeping up on him. “That was me, wasn’t it?”

Dean nods in confirmation. “Yeah, seems that way. Of course we’re gonna make sure, just to be on the safe side, but it’s plausible that … well, that your mojo affected them. Without you noticing it.”

Cas presses his lips into a thin line. “How long?”

He sounds like he already knows the answer, but has to voice the question anyway. For his own sanity’s sake.

“We can’t say for sure,” Dean replies. “Charlie didn’t wind back that much yet. But … uh, seems like it’s been going on for a while. Most likely …”

He trails off and grimaces.

Cas, however, doesn’t pull a face as he continues, “Most likely since the moment I stepped into the bunker. After Ramiel and the Lance of Michael.”

Yeah, Dean already started to form some suspicions. “You think this has something to do with, uh, your mojo acting out and stuff?”

Cas’ shoulder sag at those words. “Maybe. I don’t know.” He inhales deeply. “I’ve been feeling weird ever since, but I thought I just needed a little time to get back to my former self. I never considered …”

He pauses, his expression completely motionless for a long moment, before eventually turning so intense that Dean senses a shiver running down his spine as it is directed straight at him.

“Why are you still here, Dean?” he asks bluntly, shaking his head in incomprehension. “Why are you not out there, looking for Sam?”

Dean feels all of his defense walls going right up at Cas’ tone. “What do you expect me to do, huh? Running around blindly and hoping to stumble upon Sammy by accident?”

Cas’ muscles declamp a little when a flicker of guilt flashes over his features. “I didn’t mean …”

“Trust me, I wanna be out there,” Dean says with emphasis. “ _So badly._ But there is nothing I can do. Nothing at all.”

Which really hurts to say out loud.

And yet it’s the truth nonetheless.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Cas whispers, unfiltered regret wavering in his voice now. “I didn’t mean to imply … I just …”

Dean sighs. “I know, buddy, I know. You’re worried about Sam. We all are.” He leans a tad closer, fighting back a blush as Cas’ gaze doesn’t leave him for a millisecond. “But we’ve got Charlie and Jody and Donna and even the Banes twins. They do have so much useful resources and I’m positive that could find a needle in an ocean of haystacks.”

Dean just has to trust them. He’s got no other choice at this point.

“So yeah, I can’t do much right now.” He’d probably only stand in the way and delay any kind of progress. “Apart from one thing.”

Cas narrows his eyes. “And what is that?”

“Taking care of _you,_ dumbass” Dean points out with a huff. “Because that’s just as important.”

“Right.” Cas nods in understanding. “I might remember some more details that could help in the search.”

Dean scoffs. “No, you idiot! Because you’re family and we care about you. _That’s_ why.”

Cas sometimes has this annoying habit of thinking he’s replaceable. That he’s not valuable enough, beyond his fighting skills and angel mojo. That he’s a fucking weapon and nothing much besides that.

And yeah, some part of that is due to Heaven and the angels and their fucking “no hugs”-attitude. No one believes to be an important member of society with such a way of growing up.

But Dean has to admit that in the past he didn’t do all that much to help Cas think otherwise either. He only called him for cases, picked his brain for his expertise -- no wonder the guy thinks he’s not much worth beyond that. In the end it even led to Cas saying yes to freaking Lucifer himself and till this very day that’s something Dean barely can forgive himself for. Dean fucked up majorly with a lot of things concerning Cas and he just hopes that eventually he’ll have the chance to make up for that at least somewhat.

“If you remember anything, that’s great, but I’m here ‘coz I was crazy worried about you, Cas,” Dean says, feeling uncomfortable and vulnerable being so open with his emotions, but nevertheless telling himself over and over that Cas _needs_ this, no matter what. “And I still am. You’re family, man, and I just wanna see you safe.”

Safe and sound.

Right by Dean’s side.

Cas stares at him for a moment, his gaze still after all these years so undecipherable Dean doesn’t know what to do with it, and eventually whispers, “But what about Sam?”

Despite better judgement Dean scoots closer and places his hand over Cas’, suppressing the desire to link their fingers together and hold on tightly.

“You healed Sam, right? Before you sent him away?”

Cas nods instantly. “I did. But … not completely. I couldn’t --”

“But he was out of danger.”

“Yes.”

“And you sent him to a safe place?”

At that Cas starts to grimace. “That was my intention, yes,” he confirms. “But … I don’t know _where._ I recall actually intending to send him _to you_ because there is no safer place on earth …”

Dean swallows audibly at that and tries not to flush like a schoolgirl.

“But obviously that didn’t work,” Cas concludes, sounding all kinds of miserable now. “Something went wrong and Sam could be _anywhere_ at this point. Maybe he’s at the bottom of the ocean right now and it would be all my fault --”

“Hey, hey, hey!” Dean hurries to reach out and places a steady hand on the angel’s shoulder, hoping that the touch might calm him down. “Don’t freak out, Cas. Everything will be fine.”

Cas snorts like that’s the most ridiculous joke in history. 

(And granted, with the life they’re leading, that’s actually not too far from the truth.)

“I’m just saying, you’d never hurt Sam,” Dean states with all the reassurance he’s able to scrape together. “And your mojo … even if it’s acting out and doing things on its own will or whatever, it’s still a part of you, right? It went off to save that woman, it healed Sam, sent him somewhere protected. There’s still some kind of rationality to it, woudn’t you agree? And though I’m not sure about many stuff in life, there’s one thing absolutely unwavering: You would _never_ do anything to harm Sam.”

There’s no fucking doubt about that.

“It might’ve not turned out as you planned,” Dean admits. “But that doesn’t mean it didn’t work.”

Cas still appears highly unconvinced. “How can you be so sure?”

Dean smiles warmly at him. “Because I know you, man. And I have faith in you.” When Cas remains silent, merely gaping and obviously still unsure what to think, Dean adds, “Just listen inside yourself. You’ll see I’m right.”

Cas stays quiet, this time however following Dean’s suggestion, probably digging deep inside his inner self, turning every stone, peeking around every corner.

And eventually he relaxes.

“Your confidence in me is very flattering,” he whispers. “I can feel … I can _feel_ that Sam is safe. That he is alright.”

Dean releases a breath he’s been holding for quite a while. Granted, he’s been pretty confident in Cas and his powers, no matter what, but it’s good to have it confirmed verbally as well. 

And when Cas offers him a tentative smile, it gets even better. “Thank you, Dean.”

Dean simply waves him off. “Don’t mention it, buddy. Just focus on getting better and leave us the job of finding Sam.”

Cas sighs once more. “It might take a while. He could be anywhere.”

Dean pulls a face, not really happy to be reminded of that. “I know,” he says. “But we’ve got a great team. We’re gonna find Sam and by the end of this week we’re gonna laugh about the whole thing.”

Dean really has to grasp at this hope because there is nothing else left at this point.

There are still so many variables, so many possibilities, and Dean can’t just jump into the Impala and drive around aimlessly, hoping that against all odds the universe would grant his wish and put his brother in his path by dropping him coincidentally at the side of the road just at the right time. He aches to do something, _of course_ he does, but the confirmation that Sam isn’t lying dead in a dark hole somewhere is enough to calm him down for now.

Yes, Sam still might be highly affected by the injury inflicted by the demon. Considering that he didn’t try so far to reach Dean or anybody else it seems logical to assume he isn’t in any condition to operate a phone right now.

And yes, he might even be in fucking Timbuktu or wherever. God knows what kind of fleeting thought flickered through Cas’ mind as he sent Sam away. It probably was just a transient distraction, something Cas didn’t even realize happened in the first place, but it was enough to overshadow his original intention to send Sam to Dean.

However, Dean is overall more hopeful than he has been the last couple of days. He felt helpless and desperate the whole time, almost going mad not knowing what happened to his brother, and though the current outcome is not exactly a happy ending yet, it’s so much better than Dean could’ve hoped for. 

And they’ve got tech geniuses and sheriffs and witches at their disposal, making the entire search for Sam a bit easier than for any regular mortal. Not to mention an angel who possibly might remember a thing or two sometime soon.

Especially if he’d rest a little bit more.

“You should lie down again,” Dean suggests. “You look beat.”

Cas shuts his eyes tightly for a moment. “I shouldn’t need to sleep or to eat.”

Dean is well aware of that and it frightens him more than he can say, but for now it appears this is what Cas needs and Dean would go to Hell and back _again_ just to see to it.

“How about you change into something more comfortable first?” Dean proposes, plucking at the oversized shirt Cas obviously got at the police station. “You can put on some of my stuff.”

Dean offers a warm smile and tries hard not to look too excited about the idea of the angel wrapped in his clothes.

Cas hesitates at first, gazing down on himself critically, as though he didn’t even waste a single thought about his attire before, and Dean is totally prepared to hear some stupid “the concept of clothes is irrelevant to angels” bullshit coming his way the very next second. But instead Cas sighs eventually and says, “That would be quite nice, actually. This shirt itches.”

And so it’s set.

Happy to have a task at hand Dean rummages through his duffle and settles on a pair of comfy sweatpants and a shirt that’s so ridiculously soft Dean had to buy it the very first moment he touched it. Hopefully Cas will feel warm and comfortable enough in them to shake off the shitiness of the last few days.

As expected Cas doesn’t show any signs of shyness as soon as Dean hands over his findings but just pulls his shirt over his head while simultaneously stepping out of his way too big pants. Dean merely has a chance to blink and Cas is suddenly standing right there close to naked, presenting his tan skin, his well-defined muscles, his murder thighs and criminal hipbones in all their glory.

Dean’s brain instantly short-circuits at the unexpected and so overwhelming sight and for way too long he only gapes like a fish, probably looking outright foolish in the process. His heart picks up its pace rapidly and his libido suddenly seems to wake up from a long slumber, perking up with a high level of interest. Dean switches between blinking like a maniac and desperately trying to get his body functions under control, whiplash quickly approaching.

Thankfully Cas doesn’t appear to notice and is soon enough covered from top to bottom in Dean’s clothes, looking a little more relaxed now. He even sniffs at the shirt for a brief second, most likely not thinking anything by it, and smiles gently in a way the hunter has rarely seen before. And Dean doesn’t know whether it’s the detergent Cas finds appealing or Dean’s own scent somewhere mixed underneath it, but for his own sanity he decides not to dwell on it.

“C’mon, man, lie down,” Dean urges, eager to see Cas covered with blankets. “The dog can’t wait to cuddle with you.”

It’s true, The Colonel didn’t leave the angel out of his sight for even a millisecond as he remained on the bed and keenly awaited Cas’ return. His tail begins to wag happily as Cas pets his head briefly before climbing underneath the sheets again and soon enough the dog is pressed against his side once more. Ready to cuddle, ready to keep him warm and protected.

Fuck, Dean’s really jealous of a dumb dog!

Where has the world come to?

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas murmurs, his voice already sounding a little drowsy. “I appreciate your help.”

“It’s nothing, Cas,” Dean shrugs him off instantly. “Just rest for a while. And if you need anything, just say so.”

Cas hesitates at that statement, gazing at the hunter with his big, blue eyes in anticipation. He opens and closes his mouth several times, as if he’s got something on his mind he has no idea how to bring even up.

“What it is, Cas?” Dean helps out and attempts to let his voice sound as soothing and encouraging as possible.

“I …” Cas starts to squirm under his blanket. “It’s … nothing.”

“No, c’mon, buddy,” Dean urges. “You wanna say something, just out with it. I promise not to bite your head off.”

He grins widely to make it clear he’s only joking, but Cas actually appears concerned all of a sudden.

“It’s okay, Dean,” he says. “I’m fine.”

But he surely doesn’t sound like it.

“Please, Cas.” Dean carefully positions himself on the side of the bed and lays his hand on Cas’ thigh, telling himself it’s okay with the sheets between. “I wanna help you.”

Cas chews on his bottom lip, still looking all kinds of unsure whether what he’s about to say might be appropriate or not.

“You want a bedtime story?” Dean asks with a chuckle. “A foot massage? You want me to join your little cuddle fest? Or --?”

“Yes!” Cas cuts in.

Dean blinks a few times. “What?”

Did he seriously hear that correctly?

“I’m just …” Cas heaves a very deep breath and pulls The Colonel closer to him, much to the dog’s delight. “This entire situation -- I feel fairly unstable right now. Like I could fly off again any second. And who knows where I could end up then?”

Dean finds himself nodding in understanding. He surely shares that sentiment.

“Your presence … I think it might ground me,” Cas continues, obviously having a hard time looking Dean straight into the eyes. “I know on a logical level that you could do less to nothing if something like that occurred again, but … I guess the mere feeling …”

Dean certainly gets where he’s going with this. The illusion of security. Of protection. Of safety.

It might not be real, but at least a powerful enough fantasy to let him rest peacefully for a while.

And so Dean finds himself climbing out of his shoes and crawling into bed right next to Cas because at the end of the day his own hang-ups and irrational emotions pale in comparison to Cas’ well-being. He seriously doesn’t have time to be weird about this if he might be able to help Cas feel better.

So he doesn’t allow himself some time to second-guess and evaluate as he aligns his body with Cas’ and throws his arm like a dead weight over Cas’ chest, grounding him right there on the mattress. His heart is dancing a fucking samba in his ribcage and he’s pretty sure Cas can totally feel it, but he tells himself it’s for the greater good and not a big deal anyway as he focuses on digging his hand into The Colonel’s fur, who is lying right on the other side of the angel, and hopes it’s enough of a distraction to calm his nerves quickly.

Cas, meanwhile, watched him the whole time with a somewhat wary expression, like he was not really sure what to make of this entire thing. However, his muscles relax noticeably as soon as Dean found a good position and finally settled down.

“You really don’t have to do this,” he says nevertheless, one last time giving Dean a chance out. “I’d understand if you --”

“It’s fine, Cas,” Dean cuts right in. “No biggie.”

Yeah, no biggie that he can feel Cas’ warmth radiating through his skin. No biggie that Cas’ hot breath brushes his face. No biggie that Dean’s face is almost pressed against the angel’s neck.

No biggie at all.

“I need to catch up on some rest anyway,” Dean grunts, glad that Cas can’t look directly at his face. “Might as well do it here.”

Cas makes a humming noise. “Right, The Colonel mentioned that you put yourself under a lot of stress.”

Dean raises a brow and shoots a glance at the dog who merely looks back at him ridiculously innocently, before he turns his attention back toward the angel.

“You know,” he says gruffly, “till this day I have no idea if you can really understand that damned dog or if you’re just having me on this whole time.”

Cas’ features stay blank as he announces, “Angels speak all the languages in the world.”

Dean scoffs. “So you’ve been telling me,” he agrees. “But damn, sometimes you’re just so full of shit, man.”

For a moment Cas’ features don’t change a bit, but then the corners of his mouth start to twitch upwards in clear amusement.

That fucker.

“Go to sleep, Dean.”

And so he does.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured after all this time our boys deserved some alone time just for themselves, right?  
> I hope you don't mind ;D


	11. Wake-Up Call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So guys, here we go again :D
> 
> I'm gonna spare you any kind of lengthy speech (mainly because I'm way too tired to come up with something glorious anyway ^^') and just wish you lots of fun with the chapter!
> 
> -

The sun already starts to rise when Victor is finally able to return to the motel in Louisville.

Of course the sudden and unexplainable disappearance of a prisoner out of the blue caused a major stir in the police department and way beyond. Questions were asked, confusion rolled through the hallways, panic settled in those officers’ bones. Huge search parties swept the whole area before Victor even arrived at the station and as soon as they spotted the FBI showing up on the scene they doubled their efforts even more. The fear of being punished for this big fuck-up reached a new record and Victor just couldn’t help feeling all kinds of bad for them.

Sure, on the outside he pretended to be absolutely outraged about this “incompetence”, but naturally he knows it’s not these peoples’ fault. They’re dealing with powers way beyond their imagination and no cell on earth could have kept Castiel in one place.

Naturally he wasn’t able to tell them any of this, so he spent most of his time yelling and looking pissed off and barking orders left and right while simultaneously making sure that Castiel’s miraculous escape truly stayed “unexplainable”. Fairly easy since Castiel left not a single trace behind, but Victor still doubled check to be on the safe side.

He even debated getting Castiel’s blood-stenched trench coat and all the other belongings he had with him at the time of his arrest out of the evidence room and make them disappear as well, but in the end he decided against it. The officers were on a too high alert at that point and Victor seriously didn’t want to be the one who eventually screwed up.

So he instead focussed on sending the officers in all the wrong directions while he tried to downplay the situation to the Bureau. He knew it still would be lots of work to straighten this out in the end, but for the time being he settled on the Lafayette Police Station. The FBI, the files in the databases about Sam and Dean suddenly coming back to life, James Novak unexpectedly showing his face after almost ten years of being considered a missing person -- that’s all gonna be a bitch to deal with.

And Victor surely doesn’t look forward to it.

He sighs tiredly as he finally wheels his rental car on the motels’ parking lot, right next to Charlie’s little bug, and climbs out with any lack of elegance. 

He glances at the room he left them all behind last and notices the windows being dark. Figuring that Cas (and most likely Dean as well) deserve some sleep he turns toward the other end of the motel, right where Charlie booked a second room as soon as she realized that the angel’s proximity fucked with her technological equipment. She sent the agent a text fairly soon, telling him he should drop by whenever because she would most likely not go to sleep anytime soon anyway.

And true to her words the light inside the room shines brightly.

“You got any coffee?” Charlie grunts at him right away instead of a proper greeting, her eyes merely slits now. “Because I’m sure I’m gonna drop dead anytime soon.”

Victor raises his empty hands in apology and says, “Sorry, no can do. I drank about fifteen cups at the station and didn’t even think about stopping somewhere before coming here.” He shoots her a sheepish smile. “But there’s a coffeeshop down the road. I could rush over there and get you something if you want.”

Charlie looks at him intently, clearly mulling his proposal over, before shaking her head and pulling him into the room to close the door behind him.

“No, man, you probably worked harder than any of us,” she says with a sigh. “You deserve your rest.”

Victor knows better than to argue with that, so he simply takes off his coat and slips out of his fairly confining shoes.

“I’m sure you worked your butt off as well,” he adds nonetheless. “Got everything coordinated?”

“More or less, yes,” Charlie agrees. “Notified everyone who needs to know about the new developments. They’re spreading their search patterns as we speak while Mary and Jody went into the bunker to look for any clues. So far no luck, but seeing that Cas could’ve sent Sam fucking everywhere it’ll probably take a while.”

Victor nods in understanding. He knows how long nationwide manhunt usually take, he doesn’t even want to consider a worldwide search.

“Castiel hasn’t remembered anything else in the meantime?” he asks. The angel putting the pieces together in his head is right now the preferred outcome, for everyone involved.

“Well, I was at his room a while ago to give everybody a status update,” Charlie answers, a grin suddenly flickering over her lips. “And … uh, he was asleep. Looked rather peaceful and everything. I didn’t want to disturb them.”

“Them?”

Charlie’s grin even grows as she suddenly pushes her phone into his face, clearly meaning for him to see the picture she pulled up on the screen. Victor has to blink a few times, his sight having to adjust to the small device, but eventually he recognizes two people (and something else that might be a dog) lying on a bed, absolutely entangled with each other.

Victor takes a moment to realize it’s Dean and Castiel.

Huh.

He takes the phone and studies the image more intensely. Dean’s head is lying on the angel’s chest, his arm wrapped around the torso in a protective gesture, while Castiel has his entire body turned toward the hunter, like he is drawn to him and his warmth.

Victor has to admit, that’s some pretty cute shit right there.

Who would have thought?

Yes, Dean speaks highly of Castiel almost constantly, even at the times they were pissed off with each other for some reason or another, but Victor didn’t believe them to be so fucking cuddly close.

“Adorable, right?” Charlie asks, snickering into her hand. “I found them that way and just had to take a picture. Don’t tell Dean, though.”

Victor lifts a brow. “You wanna use this as future blackmail material, I assume?”

Charlie beams. “You never know when you might need it, right?”

Thinking ahead -- she’s clearly an expert at that.

He looks at the picture again, drinks in the serenity it radiates, and he can’t help noticing that he’s never seen Dean like this before. Granted, he’s been there for the three most prominent sides of him: 

One, a badass motherfucker hunter who gives monsters actual nightmares. A legend in his field, probably even way long after his eventual death.

Two, the family man who takes cares of everyone. Who wraps Sam in blankets when he’s sick, who vets Charlie’s small cut like it’s a battle wound, who goes the extra mile and cooks a side dish just for Victor because of his nut allergy.

And three, the dorky nerd who over the years got more confident about his likes and preferences. Chick flicks, fantasy media, the occasional roleplaying game. That’s clearly the side of Dean Winchester the monsters and most of the hunter community know  _ nothing  _ about.

But now there is this picture and Victor wonders whether there is even more to guy that he originally thought. Something private and quiet only a few selected people ever got the privilege to see. Something so fucking personal the agent actually starts to feel a little bad looking at this image, as though he’s intruding on a fairly intimate moment.

Victor isn’t sure if he isn’t interpreting too much into this (after all, Charlie clearly doesn’t have the same hiccups as him), but at the same time he was always able to trust his gut and he sure won’t stop now.

So he just murmurs, “Be careful with that,” as he hands the phone back to Charlie and doesn’t bother to watch her expression while he shuffles over to the next bed and lets fatigue finally take him.

 

\-----

 

When he blinks his eyes open again at first he has no fucking clue what startled him awake.

He just knows it’s  _ way _ too early.

His body cries, his brain screams and weeps, and Victor finds himself swearing into the pillow and cursing whoever or whatever dared to disturb him in his slumber.

But just a second later he feels something gripping his insides, the alarm bells in his head ringing so loudly it physically hurts. Victor forces himself to actually open his eyes for good and evaluate the current situation.

And suddenly he notices that his bed is moving.

At first he considers he accidentally laid down on one of those vibrating beds and somehow activated the mechanism by mistake while turning around, but just a second later Charlie suddenly storms out of the bathroom, her eyes wide with fear.

“What the hell is happening?” she exclaims, her gaze sweeping around the room.

And then Victor realizes the entire room is moving. Shaking.

Like … 

“Is this an earthquake?” Charlie asks in a high-pitched voice, her eyes already searching for the perfect corner to stay moderately safe against anything falling from the ceiling.

But Victor is hit by an immediate memory and he’s out of the bed before his mind is even capable to catch up.

“This is not an earthquake,” he announces before storming outside, even leaving his shoes behind, and rushing over to Dean and Castiel’s room. Out of the corner of his eyes he notices Charlie following him instantly, clearly confused by all of this, yet determined not to leave the agent out of her sight.

Victor practically barrels against the door, running way too much on adrenaline to even think about asking Charlie if she’s got a key with her, and the hinges give in right away, being affected by the ground shaking violently as well as being made of cheap material in the first place.

Inside the room a picture unfolds in front of him Victor’s not surprised to see.

The Colonel is dancing around the room nervously, barking and jumping, obviously not having the faintest clue what’s even happening and being freaked out of his mind. Castiel lying on the bed, his eyes closed, squirming and groaning deeply. And Dean sitting right beside him, shaking his shoulder fiercely and yelling, “C’mon, Cas, wake up!”

Victor is at his side in an instant. “What’s going on?”

He can already guess, but he wants to know for sure because taking any action.

“I dunno, man, he’s having a fucking nightmare,” Dean growls, his grip on Castiel’s shoulder so tight his knuckles begin to turn white. “And he doesn’t wake up.”

His voice sounds pretty steady considering the situation, but Victor easily detects the concern and uncertainty in his tone. The hunter is tense all over which proves only a moment later when a framed picture falls from the wall behind him and the noise makes Dean almost leap out of the bed. He’s totally on edge and doesn’t know what to do.

Thankfully Victor already experienced this before, so he’s at least a bit steadier on his feet than the others. Instead of falling flat on his face his intense training kicks in and he assesses the scene quickly before finally grabbing a glass of water that is prancing around on the nightstand, just short of dropping onto the floor as well, and dumps the liquid content right into Castiel’s face.

Dean makes a surprised noise, blinking startled like he didn’t see that coming at all, but at last it has the desired effect.

Castiel’s eyes snap open and just in the exact same moment the ground stops moving.

So freaking abruptly Victor almost loses his balance.

“Cas,” Dean says, his voice all kinds of croaky as he probably tries to get his emotions under control. “You alright, buddy?”

He reaches out, apparently desperate to touch, desperate to make sure Castiel is really fine, and his hands linger in the air uncertainly for a few moments, mere inches separating the hunter and angel, close and yet far away. Eventually he settles on lying his palm on Castiel’s shoulder again, this time, however, his touch soothing and tender.

Castiel stares at Dean for a long while, his brain clearly having severe trouble catching up with the situation. His eyes are dazed, looking like a man abruptly finding himself jerked free of a deep and fairly intense dream and now having not a single clue what’s real and what’s not.

But Dean’s proximity and the words he continues to whisper to the angel, too low for Victor to understand, eventually do the trick and Castiel’s features slowly begin to soften.

“Dean …”

That one word seems to ground the angel more efficiently than anything else. Calm him to his very core.

Just one name. And everything that’s associated with it.

“Dean …” he breathes again, so much emotions in his voice Victor finds himself unable to depict them all. “What happened?”

Dean’s shoulders sag a bit, clearly relieved to see the angel’s focus coming back. “You had a nightmare, Cas,” he explains. “A pretty massive one.”

Castiel seems puzzled at first, but then he roams his gaze around the room, reviewing the chaos with an almost blank expression, and eventually heaves a deep sigh.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes, lowering his head. “I didn’t mean to.”

Dean offers him a weak smile. “We know, man.”

Victor throws a quick glance over his shoulder to Charlie to check how she’s doing and spots her kneeling on the ground, with The Colonel pressed to her chest. The dog looks at Castiel with the most pitiful expression, apparently so damned eager to rush over and examine if he’s really okay, but his protective instinct to stay with Charlie and make sure she’s safe keeping him from leaving his post for now.

Victor can’t help a smile at the picture. Good boy.

From outside excited voices float into the room, freaked out people finding themselves on the parking lot, next to the unmistakable sound of sirens in the distance. Victor hurries to close the mangled door as good as manageable, to not have them too exposed and someone maybe sneaking a peek, and already starts to make some potential departure plans. If it’s like the last time Castiel lost control over his powers the shaking ground was a fairly local event and soon enough that might lead police and fire department way too close to their doorstep.

Dean thinks exactly the same as he suddenly appears next to Victor and whispers, “I guess we have to get out of here. _ Fast. _ ”

Victor glances back at the bed. In the meantime the angel managed to sit up and found himself with a lap full of worried dog and Charlie rubbing his wet hair with a fluffy towel while obviously talking a mile a minute. The poor guy looks a little overwhelmed, yet touched by all the concern directed at him.

To be honest, Dean seems actually worse to wear than the angel at the moment. While Castiel still appears mainly bewildered, Dean is just downright freaked out. Almost sickly pale, every single muscle in his body strained again and his gaze flickering back and forth like crazy, as though he expects the building to crash down on them any second now.

“I don’t know what happened,” Dean mutters, leaning closer to Victor to avoid anyone overhearing. “One second he was sleeping peacefully and the next …”

He trails off and sighs deeply.

“Same thing happened at the station,” Victor relies. “Lost control when he thought something happened to you, too. His emotions got the better of him.” He takes a heavy breath. “Must’ve been one hell of a nightmare.”

Dean presses his lips into a tight line. “I think I heard him mumble Sam’s name once.”

Would make sense. The things happened to Sam obviously weigh gravely on Castiel’s conscience, so naturally it would be a strong catalyst for him to wreak havoc once again.

“You should grab those three,” Victor says, pointing with his head at Castiel, Charlie and The Colonel, “and get out of here as soon as possible.”

That has been his plan all along. After all, even with proper damage control he couldn’t have convincingly argued against a widespread search, beyond the borders of Lafayette. The cops would’ve showed up at the motel sooner rather than later anyway and Victor would’ve liked to see his little fugitives gone before that could happen.

And once more Castiel is hurrying things along.

“I’m gonna stay behind for a couple of days to keep my cover,” Victor explains. “Try to send them on some phony chases. Feed them false leads. You know the gist.”

Dean nods and manages to look both grateful and worried at the same time.

“I apologize,” Castiel’s voice suddenly pipes up. He looks small and lost, his hair wet, his gaze still a little glassy, like he can’t shake the nightmare off, no matter how hard he tries. “This is all my fault.”

He glances around, his expression miserable as he studies the room’s disarray in great detail. Nothing valuable got broken (not exactly surprising with a cheap motel room), but he acts as though important treasures have been destroyed for good.

“Cas …” Dean says, an unexpected softness in his tone Victor never heard before.

Castiel, however, merely droops the corners of his mouth. “I didn’t mean to …” he mutters, shaking his head. “My powers, Sam … without me, none of this would have happened.”

While Dean instantly opens his mouth, most likely to protest as loudly as possible, Victor beats him to it as he bluntly announces, “You’re right, without you we wouldn’t be in this situation.”

Castiel actually seems weirdly thankful someone agrees with his guilt trip as he nods in the agent’s direction. Dean, meanwhile, glares daggers at Victor, the  _ what the fucking hell, dude? _ clearly on his features.

So Victor hurries to elaborate, “It’s true, without you I would be enjoying my free weekend and both Dean and Charlie would’ve watched the  _ Lord of the Rings _ trilogy at least four times within the last twenty-four hours.”

Charlie snorts at the exaggeration while Dean continues to scowl at Victor and most likely considers punching him in the face.

“Without you, none of our lame asses would be in fucking Colorado right now,” Victor adds, with emphasis, as he steps closer to the angel and leans a bit forward to look him straight into the eyes. “And without you Haley Timms would very likely be dead.”

Castiel obviously didn’t expect that change of tone, surprise flickering over his expression.

Victor allows himself a brief sensation of triumph before he continues, “We don’t know exactly what that demon planned to do with her in that alley. But considering he was carrying a knife with him I can’t imagine it being anything good.” He takes a deep breath, trying not to think of all the other poor souls who weren’t so lucky to escape. “Maybe he would’ve killed her on the spot. Maybe he would’ve kidnapped her and tortured her for days, weeks, months. Perhaps he intended to possess her and put her through unimaginable psychological agony.”

Everyone in the room is silent, just looking at the agent with grave expressions.

Even the fucking dog listens to Victor’s words with awe.

“I read Haley Timms’ file, y’know?” he says. “She just gave birth to a little girl about five months prior.”

Castiel’s eyes widen at those news while Dean next to Victor gasps a little breath. “That’s about the same age Sam was when Mom died,” he whispers, an old edge wavering in his voice.

“Without you, Castiel, that girl would’ve grown up without a mother,” Victor states. “And yes, the situation we’re currently in sucks big ass, but where I’m standing you have nothing to apologize for. You saved Haley and killed the motherfucker without any kind of mercy. He can’t never hurt an innocent person ever again.  _ That’s _ the things you should focus on for now.”

Castiel stares at him for a moment, his face so unreadable Victor wouldn’t even dare trying to analyze it. Instead he concentrates on standing his ground and not freaking out too much. Because at the end of the day Castiel is still a damned angel and they might not enjoy being lectured by a mere human of all things.

But then Castiel smiles. It’s weak and only brief, but it’s most definitely there.

“Thank you, Agent Henriksen.”

“Call me Victor.”

Castiel nods slightly, his gaze so intense Victor can’t help a little shudder.

He only gets jolted out of it when he suddenly hears a bunch of sirens, sounding suddenly way too close for his liking.

“Okay, guys, get your moves on!” he commands, clapping his hands to hurry them along. “If they catch me in your company I’m gonna have to face some  _ very  _ awkward questions.”

Charlie instantly spurs into action and rushes outside to get to her room and quickly pack her things while Dean hesitates at first, simply looking at Victor and obviously being on the verge of saying something. Something important, at least judging by the emotions sparkling in his eyes.

But then Castiel lets out a pained groan when he tries to climb out of the bed and whatever Dean meant to do is immediately forgotten as he hurries to the angel’s side in a heartbeat.

Victor can’t help watching them, seeing them interact with each other in such an unusual setting. Over the years he heard all kinds of stories about the angel, listened to Dean’s stories and the excitement in his tone, like a little boy giddy to rely the tales about his best buddy.

And now Victor finally sees them together, in flesh and blood, and it’s both everything he expected and at the same time nothing at all.

He totally anticipated the closeness, the familiarity, the concern for one another and the attempts of comfort.

But he didn’t foresee the touches that seem to linger a little bit longer than usual or their gazes being much more intense when looking at each other. Sure, Sam joked about this with Victor once or twice, claiming that those two idiots could stare at each other for hours if no one would interrupt them, completely able to forget the rest of the world around them, but Victor always assumed this to be exaggerations. Just brotherly teasing and nothing more.

Now he isn’t so sure anymore.

Because just as the picture Charlie showed him of the two of them this is something Victor never witnessed before. There is an unexpected gentleness he had no idea even existed. It’s kinda captivating to watch.

And Victor finds himself wondering whether he missed something important over all these years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, just a little interlude.  
> I figured Victor deserved some little more screen time before diving right back deep into being a badass and preventing all their asses from ending up arrested 😂
> 
> And at first I planned on letting this chapter end on a cliffhanger again, but this time I was good and well-behaved 😝  
> *gives myself a cookie*
> 
> Next chapter, though, some things finally start rolling.  
> Until next time then!

**Author's Note:**

> For more Destiel and SPN you're also more than welcome to follow my [tumblr](http://peanutbutterjelly-pie.tumblr.com) :D
> 
> And for additional news about updates, trivia or just simple ramblings specifically about this story you can also take a look at my special fic tag [HERE](http://peanutbutterjelly-pie.tumblr.com/tagged/aod) :))


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